


John, Eliza and the Great Comet of 1812

by like_tomorrow_wont_arrive



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/M, M/M, i'll just keep it mostly in the hamilton tag from now and work from there, not really sure how to tag this?, the relationships are a little weird trust me on this one, this is a mess and pretty ooc but it's two of my favorite things and i had fun writing it, this is an ungodly crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 38,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_tomorrow_wont_arrive/pseuds/like_tomorrow_wont_arrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a war going on out there, somewhere. And Angelica isn’t here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the product of me listening to phillipa soo's voice for hours on end in great comet and hamilton, and my brain going "hey, let's combine them!" i'm trying to stay as true to both malloy and tolstoy as I can. 
> 
> alternatively titled as "this is the closest ive ever gotten to writing crack fic"

 There's a war going on out there, somewhere

and Angelica isn’t here

John is young, he loves Angelica with all of his heart

Lafayette is good, John’s cousin and closest friend

Hercules is old-school, John’s godfather, strict yet kind

Alexander is hot, he spends his money on men, women and wine

Theodosia is a slut, Alexander’s best friend, governed by Eliza

Burr is fierce, Alexander’s friend a crazy good shot

Reynolds is crazy Maria is plain. Angelica's family totally messed up

Peggy is fun, and just for fun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza reflects in the quiet streets of Moscow
> 
> alternatively titled "holy shit eliza IS pierre"

Eliza stopped in her tracks. Snow was falling softly in Moscow, and a few flakes dotted her dark hair. A thought had dawned on her suddenly, for no obvious reason. _I cannot go on_. Well, go on living as she was. The zest of life had vanished, and now only the skeleton remained. The news of Angelica and John’s engagment had reached her the same time that the death of Rachel Faucette, the woman who had trained her how to be a governess. It was all so unexpectedly vile. Eliza felt a tiny wave of disgust run over herself. She used to be better.

  
She knew how the people of the town referred to her as. A crank. A merry, feasting one, but crank was the first word that came to their minds. She wasn’t a miserable crank, she just had the tendencies of an old woman. Eliza knew she was kind, smart to the point of eccentricity, and many of Moscow consider her dear to them. Maybe it was from the fact that her purse was always empty, but that was because it was open to all. Eliza rolled her eyes at herself. What was she, other than one of a hundred sad old women, living out her final days in Moscow. She was nothing.

  
Eliza drinks too much. Right now, her half sister Angelica fights and bleeds while Eliza sits at home and reads for hours at a time. She has been doing anything to help her abandon and to distract. Anything to forget that she and her loved ones have wasted their lives by drowning in fine wine. She never thought she’d end up like this. Eliza fails to contain her scoff. She hates feeling disappointed at herself. She used to be better.

  
All the men pity her now, because she is forced to be the wild Theodosia’s governess. Since Eliza agreed to help educate and keep an eye on the young wife of twenty years, Theodosia has given her no love. It’s not as if Eliza has helped the cause, however. Their hearts were both frozen at the center.

  
Eliza knows what all the men say about her. She hears it almost daily on the streets, in passing “Elle est charmant; elle n'a pas de sexe.” They aren’t wrong. Eliza considers herself charming, and she most certainly has no sex. She has no desire to engage with these men. She isn’t a tiny pretty thing like she used to be, and Eliza fears any man that might pursue her would fake affections for her wealth. Not that she is proud of it, but she still would prefer not to have to cause of her suffering robbed from her.

Moscow society always received Eliza like an old friend. She was a noblewoman of the old Russian type. She was loved by children and feeble old men. These were good things, and she really should embrace them more.

   
She closed her eyes; there’s a ringing in her head. More importantly, there’s a sickness in the world that everybody knows about, but pretend that they don’t see it. Eliza knows what they would say. They all say “Oh, I’ll sort it out later.” But Eliza knows that later never comes.

Eliza used to believe in goodness and truth. She used to see it everywhere. Now, all Eliza could do was see through all of that, and always found cynicism and evil. She would come in with all of her teeth and hair, and would leave toothless and bald every time.

  
Maybe she thought too highly of herself, but Eliza saw others has empty and stupid. They were too content with life; satisfied with their place. She was different from them. She still had ambitions. Unlike them, Eliza was still fighting to do something she wanted.

  
Or did they struggle too? How dare she judge them. She pitied them. Sure, she pitied herself too. But Eliza felt most pity for the others. 


	3. Moscow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has been surprisingly fun to write?
> 
> alternatively titled "godfather hercules mulligan is the best thing i've ever come up with"

John and Lafayette arrived to Moscow in two sleds. Tired and wound up from travel, John leapt out of his sled and stretched. Lafayette exited his own with the slightest bit more grace. Hercules Mulligan strode across his entry to meet the two young men.

 

John begins the greetings. “Hercules Mulligan”

 

“Count Jack Laurens!” Hercules said joyfully, a large smile on his face.

 

John had never liked being called Jack. The name was too sharp, too harsh. “You must call me John.”

 

“Hercules Mulligan.” Lafayette parroted John, and dipped into a slight bow.

 

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette.” Hercules rambled off effortlessly, earning an impressed look from both John and Lafayette.

 

“You must call me Lafayette.” He said, not missing a beat.

 

Hercules grinned, and broke into a caterwaul to greet his new companions. “Welcome, welcome to Moscow! Where faded and fading princes live.” He embraced both of them, nearly crushing the air out of their lungs in his excitement. “I'll take you where you must go, pet you a bit, and I'll scold you a bit. My godson, my favorite, John.” He affectionately used his large hand to pinch John on his cheek.

 

“My cousin and I are so pleased to be with you.” John said politely, and left the thought half finished for Lafayette to complete.

 

Expecting this, Lafayette did not hesitate to jump in. “While we wait on our fiancees fighting in the war.” This was a habit of the pair. Their families have argued that they are more like twins than cousins, the way their brains are wired.

 

Their towering guardian turned, looking for a servant. “Cato, bring in their things! There, on the left, what are you dawdling for?” Hercules asked in a strict but warm voice. “Get the samovar ready! Bring some rum for the tea!” He turned back to his guests. “Lafayette, bonjour. And John my son, you've grown fitter and prettier.”

 

“My cheeks are glowing from the cold.” John said, gazing at Hercules with kind, glittering eyes

 

“Fool, you are cold!” Hercules laughed, and began bellowing again “Welcome, welcome to Moscow! It’s scruffy and cozy like an old dressing gown.”

 

John and Lafayette had brought the last of their possessions inside. Hercules became preoccupied by a question a servant was asking, and Lafayette took the opportunity to talk with his cousin.

 

“Count Jack.” Lafayette knew he disliked that name, and made sure to keep his voice light and friendly.

 

John made a face, but did not miss the opportunity to poke fun back. “Marquis de Lafayette.”

 

“How handsome you looked in the snow.” Lafayette teased, and affectionately knocked into John while the pair walked.

 

A genuine smile was spread across John’s face, but something dark replaced it. “Cousin dear I love you, trust no one but you, but I can’t bear this waiting, I shall cry any minute.”

 

Lafayette was confused for a moment. Why was John upset? His eyes looked distant and far off, as if he was imagining something else.

 

“Angelica, where are you?” John whispered to himself. He looked back up at Lafayette. “I want her now, at once. To embrace her and cling to her. No one can understand.”

 

Lafayette failed to hold back a small snort. He missed Adrienne as well, but they both would return from the war. It was their duty as betrotheds to wait.

  
But John did not seem to hear him. “I love her. I know her. She loves me only.” Yes, John loved her, but not like that. Best for John to keep his secret. “She’ll come home one day, and take me away. I want nothing more.”

 

John looked back to Lafayette, eyes hazy and lost. “I love her. I know her. She loves me only. She’ll come home one day and take me away.” He repeated this mantra to himself. Their marriage will be a lie; John has never loved a woman besides his mother. Angelica knows, and is kind enough to protect John with this marriage. She has made several remarks to the effect of fancying other women she was off fighting with in her letters. They would be safe together. “I want nothing more.” _I want nothing more than to be her friend for all my days._

 

Loud footsteps alerted Lafayette and John of Hercules before either saw him. “First thing tomorrow to Madame Hemming’s” He announced. “Suits, pants, we'll buy what we can afford.”

 

Lafayette leaned over to whisper in John’s ear “So the entire shop,” which earned him a reluctant smile.

 

“Then dinner and a game of Boston, then you'll read to me while I knit! How wonderful to have you here instead of these gossips and crybabies.” Hercules made a face and unknowingly lifted the melancholy from earlier.

 

“You'll take us where we must go” John and Lafayette said in unusual synchronization. They both look to the other, amused and surprised.

 

“Pet us a bit.” Lafayette proposed.

 

“And scold us a bit.” John added.

 

Lafayette laughed, and mumbled to John “His godson, his favorite, John, he will touch you on the cheek.” He left, walking down one of the house’s many long hallways to his room, leaving John alone with Hercules.

 

“Well, now we'll talk!” Hercules said, and earned a larger smile from John. “I congratulate you and Angelica, you've hooked a fine fellow! I’ve known her since she was this high.” Hercules held his hand just below his hip. “One of the finest matches in all of Russia. I am glad and relieved, she’ll be the family's saving grace.”

 

John blushed happily at Hercules's praise. He was pleased his godfather had bought their ploy.

 

“But her father, Prince Reynolds, much dislikes her daughter’s marrying, the old fellow's crotchety!” Hercules muttered aside to himself. “Of course Princess Angelica’s not a child, but it's not nice to enter a family against a father's will; One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly. But you're a clever boy, just be kind to Angelica’s sister, and when the sister loves you, so will the father.” Hercules carefully looked John up and down, before he met his eyes and offered him that same, warm smile from before. “Be kind, use your wits, and all will be well”


	4. The Private and Intimate Life of the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we meet plain maria, crazy reynolds and get some background information on the wild schuyler/reynolds/former van rensselaer house 
> 
> alternatively titled "will maria ever catch a break"

Prince Reynolds had aged, aged much this year. He would fall asleep at the table, and drop his napkin to the floor. He was full of childish vanities, and he forgot things. He lived in the past. Reynolds had aged. Despite all of this, people enjoyed him. He inspired his visitors with a sense of respectful veneration, particularly when the old prince would come in for tea dressed in his old-fashioned coat and powdered wigs. And he would tell stories of the past and utter scathing critiques of the present. For all of them, that old-fashioned house with its gigantic mirrors, powdered footmen and its stern, shrewd old man, who was a relic of the past century, and his gentle daughter presented a majestic and agreeable spectacle

But besides the couple hours during which the Reynolds had guests, there were also twenty-two hours in the day, during which the private and intimate life of the house continued. And it was rarely pleasant.

“Bring me my slippers!” screeched the old prince, propped up in an ancient chair.

Maria burst into the room, slippers somehow already in hand. “Yes father yes father.” She said under her breath.

Reynolds learned in closer, and scowls at her in disgust. “Bring me my wine.”

She was used to this. Maria nodded and walked off, and repeated her mantra. “Yes father yes father oh father.” And she never went anywhere, never invited.  _For who would take care of him?_ She asked herself. _Who would take care?_ She knew no one would, because he was a miserable man. 

Neither of the Reynolds have any friends. During this visit to Moscow, the two who Maria had been closest with frankly disappointed her with their unpleasantness and vanity. Prince Reynolds had a few when he was younger, but all of his friends are dead now.

Time was moving, it was now or never for Maria. She could feel her fate slipping past her. 

Her father interrupted her train of thought “Silence! Silence!”

Maria ducked her head. “Yes father, yes father.” She had grown used to her father yelling at nothing.

“Shut your damn mouth girl!” grumbled the prince in a fit of rage. “Shut your damn mouth, I can hurt you!” He threatened

Maria took one look at her ailing father and thought, _Oh I could hurt you_ , and quickly felt shame rise in her. She never ever, ever, ever would. This is just how it was, it was just how he was. She was always to blame. He had beaten her, treated her like a dog, made her fetch wood or water, and that's just how it was. His irritability had distressed her lately, because it was always directed at her. So she did the only thing she could. She met his hate with love. “Oh father, I love you father.”

Time was moving. It was now or never. And Maria had abandoned the hope of getting married. She saw the coldness and malevolence her father received the possible suitors who occasionally appeared at their house over the course of years. It was the same every time. Come in, but don’t sit down, be gone and don’t come back. 

Maria had never let it bother her until the old prince had told her that he wanted to marry someone himself. He proposed a cheap French thing, and the first thing that came to Maria’s head was the French girl, Kitty, who had come to live with them after being orphaned. She was cunning, flirtatious and had scared off a previous suitor of Maria’s. Maria harbored little genuine affection for her, but preferred to keep the girl out of her father’s suffocating grasp and her father out of Kitty’s shrewd ambitions.

Less than a week later, Maria had walked in on her father kissing Kitty’s hand and drawing her to him so the old prince could embrace her affectionately. Maria flushed crimson and ran out the room. Minutes later, Kitty walked past Maria, looking smug and making cheerful remarks about nothing in particular in her pleasant voice. Maria refused to make eye contact as she marched to the sitting room.

Prince Reynolds looked up expectantly when she entered, but his eyes grew as hard as stone when he realized it was his daughter. “Oh, let an old man have his fun!” he bellowed.

Maria couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes and slipped on to her cheek. “Father -” She started, but was cut off by the prince.

“Wipe away your tears, girl, I don’t want your tears.” He hissed. 

“Oh that horrible woman!” Maria yelled back, while feeling white hot tears of anger streak down her face freely now. “That vile and inhuman woman, she’s using you Papa, she wants your money Papa. To take advantage of your weakness like that, it’s disgusting!” Maria’s strained voice broke over the last word.

Prince Reynolds didn’t hesitate to respond to his daughter. “It’s my money and I’ll throw it where I want. Not at you! Not at your worthless twin! Not at Catherine’s bastard daughter! And most certainly not at Angelica’s inamorato! It’s my money, my money, mine, all mine!”

Maria flinched at the attack on Angelica, Eliza and Peggy. Peggy had run away from home when she was fifteen to escape their father and live with the troika drivers. It was unlikely she would ever want to touch their father’s money. Eliza had more than enough money to manage. She was the sole heir to Philip Van Rensselaer’s fortune, and still chose to work as a governess. Maria could hardly blame their mother for being unfaithful; Prince Reynolds would not be Maria’s first choice for a husband either. And Angelica… Angelica was their protector, their defender. She had sheltered them from their father’s cruelty as well as she could before she went to fight in the war. Angelica had taught them how to be strong and still be kind. It's because of Angelica that Maria kept her head up high and didn’t back down from her father like he wanted her to.

Her small defiance threw the prince into a fit of rage. “Insolent girl! Insolent girl! Where-” He dropped his eye contact, and frantically looked around. “Where- Where are my glasses?” The hatred returned to Reynolds as as he turned to scream at Maria.“Where are, where are they? Where are my glasses?” He rose from his chair, mania growing with each passing second while Maria slowly backed away from her father. “Where are- Oh God I'm frightened. Oh God I've aged, I've aged so very much.” He pressed his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes. “Where are my glasses? Where are they? Where?” He knocked over a stack of papers, and ignored them as they flew around the room. “Where are my glasses? Where are they?” He collapsed in the chair once again, and looked off beyond the doorway where Maria stood. “Where?” he mumbled.

Maria felt her heart break a little bit more. They were there, upon his head. His glasses were there upon his head. At moments, the pride of sacrifice gathered in her soul. Her father, who she had judged so terribly would look for his glasses in her presence, fumbling and failing to realize that his glasses were on his head. And he forgot things, he lived in the past, and at his worst, on nights that they didn’t have guests to excite him, fell asleep at the table and let his napkin drop to the floor while his shaking head sunk over his plate.

 _He is old and feeble, and I dare to judge him_. Maria thought to herself. She felt revulsion against herself. Here she was, judging her senile father. She disgusted herself.


	5. Natasha & Bolkonskys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey tolstoy bro why did you give all of your characters miserable lives mary and natasha deserve better
> 
>  
> 
> alternatively titled "john my dude you are in for a surprise"

John slowed his nervous breathing as he walked towards the Reynolds house. “I know they'll like me.” He whispered to himself, “They can't help but like me.” _Everyone has always like me_ . John takes a deep breath and focuses on the door. He was more than ready to be so fond of them, Her father, his Angelica’s father, and her sister, his Angelica’s sister. There was no reason for them not to like John. He exhaled one last time, and knocked on the door. A servant with dirty blond hair opened the door almost right after he had finished knocking. 

  
“Are the Prince and Princess at home?” John asked.

  
The servant looked oddly grim. “The Prince in not receiving.” He informed John. “But the Princess begs you to walk up.”

 

John gave him a nod, and turned to see Princess Maria standing just beyond the servant.   
  
Maria looked startled, but quickly covered it up with a small smile. “Oh.” She whispered. “Oh, hello.” She took a step back, and gestured at John. “Won't you come in.”  
  
Quite surprised by her timidness, it took John a moment to reply. “Hello.” He said softly, ducking his head to make himself appears smaller.   


Maria silently lead them down one of the many long halls in the Reynolds house, and the pair awkwardly sat down at a large table.   
  


And from the first glance Princess Maria do not like John. She thought he was far too fashionably dressed, frivolous and vain. But what Maria did not realize that before even having laid her eyes on her future brother-in-law, she was prejudice against him by her involuntary envy. John’s beauty, youth, and happiness turned Maria green, but the thing that caused her most of her envy was her sister’s love for him.  
  
The entire time, Maria was on edge. She had decided to recieve John, and her father was not happy with the news. She vividly remembers the tantrum he threw this morning. Prince Reynolds had thrown the book he was reading, and stormed over to the room Kitty was living in, while he growled “I do not wish to see him!” Maria feared that any moment he might indulge in some freak.

 

John looked down into his hands, and tried to break the awkward silence. “I'm sorry the Prince is still ailing.”

 

Maria smiled tightly, but all she could see was an image of her father next to John, screaming thirty insults at him all at once. It sounded like an orchestra trying to play together out of key. 

  
John could not hold back his uncomfortable blush, and while he was angry that he had blushed, he maintained a bold and defiant expression. _I am not afraid of anyone_. John reminded himself. But such hesitation, such unnatural manners struck an odd chord in him. He decided that from the first glance, he did not like Princess Maria. She was too plain and affected, insolent and dry. He found a sense of floundering growing within and in response shrunk a bit into himself, and assumed an offhand air. 

  
Unfortunately for John, this alienated Maria still more. After five minutes of irksome, constrained and strained conversation, they heard the sound of slippered feet rapidly approaching. Princess Maria looked terrified, setting John on edge. He was surprised when it was simply Prince Reynolds in his dressing gown.

 

“Ah! Ah sir!” Reynolds began, in a babbling rhythm. “Count Laurens, if I am not mistaken... Oh! Oh I beg you to excuse me, excuse me, my costume, this dressing gown… I did not know, my poor boy.” He slowly advanced further in the room, and both John and Maria developed the sense that they were being stalked like prey. “God is my witness, I did not know you had honored us with a visit, I came in such a costume only to see my son God is my witness, I didn't know.” Reynolds stopped his advancement, and squinted at his guest. Maria had her eyes downcast, not looking at her father or John. “My poor boy.” He adds, almost spitting on John now.

  
  
The prince looked at John once, head to toe, and left muttering. John felt as if he had raked him with talons. He abruptly stood, and turned to Maria “I must take my leave.” He announced.  


Maria rose quickly, and was tripping over her words. “Please wait, wait I must…”

 

John glanced at her ironically without knowing why as he dressed himself in his winter coat.

 

“Dear John,” said Princess Maria “I want you to know how glad I am my sister has found happiness…” She paused feeling that she was not telling the truth.

 

Ever observant, John noticed this. “I think it is not convenient to speak of that now, dear Princess.”  he said with external dignity and coldness, though he felt tears choking him. He raced out of the Reynolds house, and made sure to nod at the servant who couldn’t seem to care less.

  
_What have I said, what have I done?_ John thought as he rode home in the troika. He found himself crying like a child. Oh, they had been so awful! It all hurt so terribly. _Angelica,_ he thought as he tried to stop the small flow of tears that were racing down his face. _Where are you?_


	6. No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is limited accuracy on all of this besides the clothing. the 1800's men night shirt described is accurate.
> 
> alternatively titled as "john you probably should have thought this out a little more"

The moon was so bright tonight. John remembered the first time he heard her voice. The way the moonlight burst into the room. He saw Angelica’s dark, youthful, wise eyes, her blinding white smile. They hand exchanged a look, and just like that, she knew. John remembered feeling frightened, but she had been kind, gentle and warm. And then the world opened wide.

 

He had to catch his breath. John remembered laughing in relief and blushing while she had entertained him in a pleasant conversation. He could have sworn the guitars from his uncle’s house that always soothed him were playing in the distance. Angelica was so good for him.

 

He loved her. He loved her boldness, he loved her intelligence, he loved her warmth. John loved Angelica. Loved her just as he loved sister, if not more.

 

 _Oh, the moon. Oh, the snow in the moonlight._ John thought as he marveled at the wonder of it all. The moon and snow always brought him back to that night. Angelica’s childlike eyes that were still so intelligent. Her distant smile that still held so much warmth. John would never be that happy again. That moment was for Angelica and him. And no one else.

 

Lafayette and him had discussed metempsychosis many times; the Egyptians believed that everyone's souls had lived in animals and would go back to animals again. He had this familiarity with Angelica, like they’d done this all before. John didn’t believe that him and Angelica had ever been animals. He was certain that they were angels once, somewhere. Angelica brought joy and life inside his soul with her impeccable perception that was unmatched. And the best part was that nobody knew, just her and him. It was their secret.

 

The troika had arrived home, and John departed with a nod and tip to the driver. He marveled at the brilliance of the night sky. Lafayette, ever diligent, was waiting for him.

“It’s late.” Lafayette said as John gave his thick fur coat to a servant.

 

John laughed, still distracted by his thoughts about Angelica. “Have you seen the winter sky?”

 

“Yes, John. We were just outside.” Lafayette seemed terribly tired, and motioned for John to follow him up the stairs. “It’s late, we should be in bed.”

 

“It’s so incredible!” John exclaimed, and threw his arms out “How can anyone sleep?” He had a vision again of that night that he had met Angelica, and how quickly they had become friends. “Why, there was never such a night before!”

 

Lafayette arched his eyebrows, and contained a laugh. John had an energy to him that always amazed Lafayette. _He’s probably thinking about Angelica._ Lafayette would never understand them. John’s eyes were always full of wonder when he looked at her, never lust. What they had was very pure, it was as if they were best friends. “John, Hercules will kill us if he knows we are dawdling.”

 

John stopped at the top of the staircase and spun around dramatically, playful smile lighting up his face. “I feel like sitting down on my heels, putting my arms round my knees, and squeezing tight as possible!” John took a couple of steps towards his room and froze. He hadn’t really considered how careful Angelica and him will have to be. They would have to take their secret about John’s love of men to the grave. Oh God, they might have to have kids to make sure people fully believed their lie. And what would come of those children? They would surely find out, and -.

 

“What would you do then, dear cousin?” Lafayette asked, pulling him back to reality and grounding John like he always did.

 

“I’d fly away.” John said simply, and quickly closed the door. Lafayette wondered what had caused his sudden shift of mood. John was young, he was fickle. He’d be over it by tomorrow. Lafayette walked down to his own room, eager to finally fall asleep.

 

There wasn’t a servant in the room, so John quickly undressed himself and pulled on one of his finer nightshirts that was adorned with lace on the neck and wide sleeves. He sat on his large, empty bed without bothering to pull up the sheets. He slowly tucked his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them, and squeezed. He sat there for a very long time. “Like this…” He whispered to himself.

 

John looked out his window. He had forgotten to pull the drapes closed, and watched the moon while he sat balled up. The snow was still gently falling, illuminated by the moonlight like it was that night Angelica became his savior. Her childlike eyes, her distant smile. _I’ll never be this happy again._ John bitterly realized. Angelica and him, and a marriage built on necessary deceit. Angelica and him, and them living out their days dealing with their unnatural, immoral tendencies. Angelica Schuyler Reynolds and John Laurens. And no one else. No lovers for either of them, for they couldn’t afford the scandal. They’d have to figure out how to explain the absence of children. Angelica was smart and John was convincing. They’d survive.

  
But oh, how John missed her company so dearly. _Maybe she'll come today._ It was horribly late for a gentlewoman like Angelica to arrive. _Maybe she came already. And she's sitting in the drawing room. And I simply forgot._


	7. The Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know i just prided myself on some clothing accuracy, but some pretty wacky things have to happen for john to get his bare, freckled arms that tolstoy loved, so bear with me. and men and women can both be in the army because it works for the plot sorry y'all.
> 
> alternatively titled "and alex comes to ruin everything"

The trip to Madame Hemmings had not been in vain. John, Lafayette and Hercules were off to the opera tonight, and dressed quite handsomely. Hercules was dressed traditionally, old fashioned and well made just like the man himself, with a particular emphasis on the color red. Lafayette was plain in a timeless white waistcoat with a matching cravat, black coat, and tan breeches. John had splurged while at the shop, and bought a handsome white getup. John’s waistcoat was flashier than Lafayette’s, and had a silver shimmer to it. Hercules had expressed much distaste at John’s choice of a lower neckline, but compromised with the cravat. His white coat was sitting in his lap, and John rubbed a smudge of dirt he had previously missed on his black boots off. 

 

Their carriage almost screeched to a halt “The opera, the opera!” Hercules exclaimed, pushing open the door. “Hold on to yourselves and jump out quickly.” 

 

John didn’t bother putting his coat back on to leap out. His sheerer undershirt snagged on the side, and his heart dropped when he heard a horrible ripping noise. John had torn a hole from his upper bicep down to just below his wrist. He turned to Hercules, terror in his eye. 

 

“Oh, come here my boy.” Hercules mumbled comfortingly, and looked over the rip. It was clean, and almost looked intentional. He could probably replicate it on the other side. “Lafayette, do you have that knife of yours?”

 

Lafayette nodded, and dutifully handed the decorated blade over. Hercules carefully cut the fabric, and stood back, pleased. He passed the knife back to Lafayette.  

 

John looked pale with terror. “Does it look horrible? I can’t wear my coat all night, oh I just should have had it on.”

 

“At least you match, cousin.” Lafayette said happily, slinging an arm over John’s shoulder to pull him into a side hug. “If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them you are showing off your freckles.”

 

The trio made their way into the opera house, where they were greeted by a servant at the door. “Gentlemen, welcome to the opera”  
  
The music sounded louder and through the doors, rows of brightly lit boxes which held nobel people with bare arms and shoulders, soldiers in brilliant uniforms, and all sorts of pearls and silk which glittered before John and Lafayette's eyes. A lady in uniform entering the next box tilted her head approvingly at the slits in John’s shirt, earning him a glance of masculine envy from the man on her arm. It was a crowd of memories, desires and emotions that almost overwhelmed the two young boys. 

 

Lafayette leaned over and whispered. “John, smooth your waistcoat.”

 

“You too, Lafayette.” John mumbled as did so almost frantically.

  
Another servant was walking around with drinks, and Hercules made sure to grab three for the boys and himself. John found himself looking in the glass. He saw he looked handsome. The face that looked back at him was mature, almost striking with his dark curly hair down and fashionably tousled. He wasn’t a boy anymore. John felt excitement run through his veins, he’d never felt like this before. There were hundreds of eyes looking at his practically bare arms, his freckled arms and exposed neck, his bare freckled arms and shoulders emphasized by his torn shirt.   
  
The two remarkably pretty boys had not been seen in Moscow in many years. Everybody knew vaguely of John’s engagement, which was considered to be one of the finest matches in all of Russia.  
  
Lafayette tugged at Hercules’s sleeve much like a child. “Look, there's Charles, home from the war at last.” He said.  
  
“He has changed.” Hercules replied, noting the way that Charles was walking with a limp, as if he had been shot in the side. A familiar figure was talking to him. “Dear me, John Adams has grown still stouter!” He exclaimed under his breath, earning a quick laugh from Lafayette.  
  
“There's James and Dolley, engaged.” John noted with excitement. He and Lafayette had grown up with the pair, and Dolley had recently inherited a great sum of money. James’s mother had been close friends with John’s own, and it was good to see his friend happy. 

  
“And Thomas Jefferson, what a getup he has on!” snickered Lafayette, clearly not appreciating the hue of purple Jefferson was adorned in. Hercules didn’t disagree, but knew better than to comment.  
  
A tall woman in black and green craned her neck from where she was standing near the entrance with a dark, mysterious, bald young man. “And is that John?” She mumbled to her companion.  
  
Whispers rose up through the crowd at the opera as they delved deeper into gossip. A chorus of  “And is that John?” was growing louder and louder

  
John picked up on the hushed whispers quickly, and did his best to hold back a grin. They were are looking at him, talking about him! _They all liked me so much._ The men were envious and the women were calming their companion’s jealousy while being reserved about their own attractions. _Not that I want any attention from the ladies_. John realized, and restrained making a face of mild disgust.      
  
The same servant who was at the door called out “Announcing Aaron Burr.” 

 

The bald man stepped forward and into the opera house. Burr was famous, he dominated Moscow’s most brilliant young men. He stood in full view, well aware that he was attracting attention. Yet he was at as much ease as though this were his own room.

 

“Burr was in the Caucasus, and he killed the Shah's brother!” Hercules informed them. Lafayette looked most impressed, while John felt unsettled by the presence of the killer. “Now all the Moscow ladies are mad about him. Burr the assassin!” Hercules hissed.

  
“And announcing Countess Theodosia Bartow Prevost.”

 

The woman and black and green was quick to rejoin Burr. Everyone knew that Theodosia was the queen of society. Always beautiful and barely clothed to show off her plump bare shoulders, and much exposed neck, around which she wore a double string of pearls. Her hair was in tiny braids, which wove into one elegant plait. She was married to one of Napoleon’s soldiers, and had seduced him for his massive wealth. He was aware that Theodosia knew just how pretty she was, and paid Eliza to serve as her escort and governess. This was before Eliza’s inheritance was discovered, but Eliza still chose to serve as an escort for the girl. She did it out of a grudging love for the wild Theodosia. But she had been slipping up lately, and simply hadn’t been able to keep up with Theodosia’s limitless energy. Eliza compromised by focusing more on Theodosia’s education, and had allowed the girl freedom that she happily abused. 

 

Theodosia and Burr were arm in arm while Eliza, the ever unaware governess, sat at home. She always insisted that she enjoyed herself far more at home then out and about. All the better for the couple who were making their way to the box. Theodosia smiled at everyone graciously, as if she was blessing them with the opportunity to look upon her. 

  
John, who had always had an affinity finer and feminine things, couldn’t contain his admiration and found himself slowly wandering closer to Theodosia. “Oh, that neck oh, those pearls.” He whispered to himself. He wasn’t attracted to Theodosia, but he would kill to be her. 

  
Theodosia, who noticed everything, strode over to John. He was awfully beautiful, with his bare arms and endless freckles. “What a charming young boy.” She said in a sugar sweet voice. _So enchanting_. She wondered if her friend might like this boy. _Unless this is the boy he has been talking about since the Washington’s._

  
John blushed scarlet at her praise

  
Hercules interjected in their exchange. “Countess Prevost, Eliza’s pride and joy, have you been here long? And where is dear Eliza?” Hercules looked around, sure he must be missing the governess. “She never used to forget us.” 

  
While John was unsure why Hercules was so determined on interrupting his conversation with Theodosia, he played along. “Yes Eliza, that good woman” _If not a little sad, a little stout,_ he thought to himself. “She must come visit us.”

  
“I will implore her to do so.” Theodosia said huskily, and stalked away back to Burr after giving John a charming smile.

  
Hercules was visibly relieved with her departure. “There's a woman one should stay far away from.” He mumbled to John under his breath. The orchestra picked up, and Hercules quickly pulled John to the box where Lafayette was already sitting. “Now John, the curtain rises.” He said excitedly.  
  
The room was filled with shushing and rounds of whispers all saying “The curtain rises!”  
  
Everyone in the boxes and the stalls became silent. All the men, old and young, in uniform and evening dress, all the women in the hall with gems on their bare flesh, turned their whole attention with curiosity to the stage. John too began to look.  
  
Two lone singers performed on the stage. They were avante-garde, and almost impossible to understand. It was grotesque and amazing. John could not follow the opera, or even listen to the music. He saw the painted cardboard and queerly dressed actors, moving and singing so strangely in the lights. _It’s all so false and unnatural,_ John thought as he watched a heavier girl in a white dress sing while a man danced around her with a knife. _I'm ashamed and amused._ And yet everyone else seemed oblivious. John thought they must be feigning delight.  
  
And feeling the flood of brilliant lights, the warm perfumed air heated by the crowd, John little by little began to pass into a state of intoxication that he had not experienced in a long time. Hercules was too involved in the opera to notice, but Lafayette did, and worried that John did not realize where he was.   
  
John felt several impulses run through him, thoughts of jumping on the balcony, and singing with the actors. “Oh I'd tickle you all if I could!” He giggled to Lafayette, who quietly attempted to hush him. John was quiet for a moment, before Theodosia turned her head to whisper something to Burr and caught John’s attention. “Oh I'd tickle you all if I could!” 

 

Lafayette quickly knocked the glass out of John’s hand and emptied to contents on the floor. Hercules turned over to give them a disapproving glare, but his gaze softened when he realized that Lafayette was merely trying to help John keep his wits about him. He turned back to the opera.   
  
There was a moment of silence during the commencement of a song, and then, a rush of cold air passed by their box. An exceptionally handsome man walked in, with a confident yet courteous air. It was Theodosia’s friend, Alexander Hamilton. He moved with a swagger, which would have been ridiculous, had he not been so good-looking. And though it was the middle of the act he walked right down the carpeted aisle. Alexander’s sword and spurs were slightly jangling, his handsome perfumed dark head was held high. And he looked right at John.

  
His lips curled into something like a smile, but more hungry. “Mais Charmante.” Alexander said to himself. He took his place in the front row next to Burr, nudging with his elbow in a friendly and offhand way that Burr, whom other treated so fawningly, appreciated greatly.

  
_How handsome he is_ , John thought to himself. _How intoxicating_. He tried to shove the thought away. Alexander was a man, he was beautiful, he was.... He was everything John wanted but could never have.  
  
In the second act there were tombstones, a round hole in the canvas to represent the moon, shades were raised over the footlights, horns and contrabass released dark notes, and black cloaks appeared with daggers in their hands.

 

During the entire act, Hamilton sat with Burr, looking at John’s box. John tried to pay attention, but heard a man’s voice rise from Countess Prevost’s box, and something told him that it was Hamilton. He turned and their eyes met. Almost smiling, Alexander gazed straight into John’s eyes with such an enraptured caressing look. It was jarring to look at Alexander like that, to be so sure that he admired John, and to not even be acquainted with him. It just was something about that hungry glare from Alexander’s intelligent brown eyes. Alexander whispered something to Theodosia, who followed his gaze.  _ He is talking about me, _ John realized, almost startled. It was as if he was a child being caught doing something he shouldn’t have. That sort of danger had always excited John instead of deterring him like it should have.

 

Candles were burning revealing men with short beards, there was crimson throne in the middle of the stage surrounded by what had to be the king and queen. Then the Tsar wailed a mournful tune. The actors all waved their arms, the king most wildly, and everybody in the stalls cheered “Bravo, bravo!”  
  
Every time John looked toward the stalls he saw Alexander Hamilton, with an arm casually draped across the back of Burr’s chair, staring at him. John was pleased to see that he was captivated by him. It did not occur to him that there was anything wrong with it. John forgot where he was, in a public place where he could be sent to Siberia for these flirtations.    
  
A terrible noise of cymbals and horns, a clutter in the crowd, and a storm came on followed by chromatic scales and diminished sevenths from the orchestra. With rapturous faces everyone in the stalls, boxes and galleries began clapping and shouting, screaming and shouting, “Bravo!”

 

John no longer thought this strange. He looked about with pleasure, smiling joyfully, and joined in the cheers of bravo. 

 

Hercules rose quietly, and informed them that he was off to grab more drinks before the next act. Lafayette eagerly asked to join him. The pair went off, leaving John alone. During this break, a rush of cold air came into the box, and Alexander entered with Theodosia stayed in the door frame, just behind him.

 

“Let me introduce my dear friend to you,” said Theodosia, her eyes shifting uneasily from John to Alexander. “This is Alexander. You two should get acquainted.” And with that she was done and disappeared back into the opera house as if she had never been there in the first place. 

 

Alexander was smaller than he seemed. Long dark hair pulled back in a bun in a similar fashion to a lady, sharp features and those dark, all-consuming eyes. If John had been standing, he probably would be a few inches taller than Alexander. He turned his head over his bare freckled arm to better look at Alexander.

  
“So,” Alexander said, tilting his head the slightest as if he was looking straight to John’s soul. “This is the Count Jack Laurens. Though I’ve heard you prefer to be called John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm leaving tomorrow at five am to go to utah for a week and half! the majority of that is going to be spent camping in the wilderness with no internet, so i can only promise that the next chapter will be up by july 3rd. thank you to everyone who has been reading; the kudos and comments make my day. this is the first work that i've published, and the reception has been absolutely amazing. i'll see you all on the 3rd!


	8. Natasha & Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's to coming back from camping a day early! i get to show of my obsession of flower meanings and alexander has officially arrived to really mess up john
> 
> alternatively titled "well john you sure aren't straight"

John watched Alexander, and nodded shorty in response. “And as Countess Theodosia has said, you are Alexander Hamilton.”

 

Alexander slowly advanced closer to John. “I have long wished to have this happiness,” he confessed, laying an arm casually on the back of John’s chair. “Ever since the Washington’s ball, where I had the well-remember pleasure of seeing you.”

 

John raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?” He no longer had to twist his head, and looked up at Alexander. 

 

“How did you like the performance?” Alexander asked, his non-answer serving as answer. “Did you hear, last week Miss Shippen fell down on the stage.”

 

_ He is sensible and simple _ , John marveled. Alexander spoke boldly and naturally, and John was both strangely and agreeably struck by the fact that there was nothing formidable in this man who had so much talk about him. His smile was most naive, and his manner was cheerful and good-natured. And Alexander was as handsome up close as at a distance.  _ No John, _ he scolded himself  _ he’s a man you can’t have him it’s alright to favor them but you cannot act you fo- _ . Alexander moved quickly so he stood directly in front of John, and looked straight down at him. Had John been standing, he probably would have gone weak in the knees and keeled over. Alexander was as handsome up close as at a distance. 

  
“And do you know, John,” he said, suddenly addressing John as if he were an old, familiar acquaintance, “we are having a costume tournament soon. You ought to take part in it!” 

 

John felt a blush creep up his neck. “Oh -.” he muttered, dropping his gaze to Alexander’s boots.

 

“You ought to come, please come!” Alexander interrupted him, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. Now they were no longer acquaintances, but dear friends.    
  


After he swallowed hard, John looked back up while responding “Oh, I -.” And found himself unable to speak while looking at Alexander in the eye.

  
Alexander looked back with unmoved determination. Throught the conversation he never had removed his smiling eyes from John’s face, his neck, or his freckled bare arms. The intensity of his gaze made John drop his head submissively.  
  


While he wasn’t the most perceptive person he knew, John was certain that Alexander was taken by him.  _ Why, I bet he is enraptured by me _ . This pleased John, but something about Alexander’s presence made him feel almost constrained and oppressed. Like it was wrong for John to be have this knowledge and be happy with it. John could feel Alexander looking at his shoulders with intensity, and involuntarily caught his eye so that he could look into his rather than something as plain as his shoulder.   
  


But looking into Alexander’s eyes, John realized he was frightened. There wasn’t that barrier of modesty that he had always felt between himself and other people. He did not know how it was that within five minutes he had come to feel himself terribly near to Alexander. John could not turn away, because he was afraid that Alexander would seize him from behind by his bare arm and kiss John on the neck. _That’s foolish, you are in public, he would not risk it._ But Alexander was bold and John knew that he wouldn’t mind Alexander grabbing him.   
  
John had to start some sort of conversation before his imagination went out of control. “How do you like Moscow?” He asked, trying not to drown in the pool of warm darkness that were Alexander’s eyes.  
  
“At first I did not like it much.” Alexander admitted, leaning back the slightest and making John’s heart drop a little. “Because, I mean, what makes a town pleasant - ce sont les jolies hommes et les femmes - isn't that so?” He looked down to John’s freckled arm and back up with incredible speed. “But now I like it very much indeed.” Alexander said, looking at John significantly. “You’ll come to the costume tournament, Count? Do come!” He leaned close to John’s ear and whispered using far more seduction than he’d bothered with all night, “You would be the prettiest there.” 

 

A dark heat flushed to John’s face as Alexander rapidly pulled back and toyed with a vase of flowers. “Do come, dear count,” Alexander muttered as his fingers skimmed over several small umbels with asymmetrical white petals that pointed outward, and pulled an thornless orange rose. “And give me this flower as a pledge.”  
  
They were speaking of most ordinary things, yet John felt closer to Alexander than he’d ever felt with any other man or woman. _No one else is here_ , John told himself as he slowly nodded, which caused a grin of pure delight to spread across Alexander’s face. _No one else can see us._ Never mind the partially open box, crowded opera house, the fact that Lafayette or Hercules could burst in at any moment and catch them, or the power of rumor. None of these things even glanced John’s mind. Alexander’s eyes were far more worthy of his thoughts. “Oh, your eyes.” John sighed softly.  
  


“It’s all right, John, I’m here.” Alexander hushed as he knelt by John’s seat so he was less visible to the other attendants. “It’s all right, John,” he repeated as he brought the hand that wasn’t holding the rose to gently cup John’s face and carefully stroke with his calloused thumb, “I’m here.”

 

He opened his mouth to reply with something witty, but John found himself lost for words. He couldn’t speak.    
  


“Look straight into my eyes.” Alexander whispered. John could not help but comply. There was a nearness, a tenderness that felt so right. A fluttering feeling rose in his chest, and he broke into a large smile. Alexander reveled in it.

  
John found that he no longer was drowning in Alexander’s dark eyes, but rather floating in them. He was comfortable, content gazing into them. It felt natural and warm and just right. There was no barrier between the pair.  
  
They stayed like that for far longer than they should have. Out of necessity rather than want, Alexander dropped his hand, slowly rose and left the box in an oddly carefree walk. John felt as if Alexander had taken all the oxygen in the box with him. 


	9. Natasha Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i thought i posted this chapter and i guess i never did? so here's a belated update
> 
> alternatively titled "alex u got john fucked up"

John smiled, and shook a little as he tried to recover from the sudden absence of Alexander and the odd feeling it left in him. Hercules and Lafayette returned, their hands full with glasses of champagne. Lafayette offered him a glass, but John shook his head in refusal. The last thing he needed was more alcohol to cloud his judgment. Lafayette pouted, but seemed to relax a little bit and took a chaste sip. Hercules had already drained three quarters of his first glass with ease. 

 

The curtain rose and the opera continued. John found himself quite submissive to the world he was in. He could feel his previous life slipping away from him. All that mattered now was Alexander, everything else was a distant past that was now gone. 

 

For the rest of the night, John found himself unable to take his eyes off Alexander. His dark, glittering eyes, and his tender smile. He briefly wondered if he was being obvious, but Lafayette didn’t say anything, and if Lafayette didn’t notice then nobody else had. John’s worry turned to agitation, because he had finally warmed up to the opera but he could not stop watching Alexander. 

 

The opera ended, and for the life of him, John could not tell you what it was about. But he cheered with the rest of the audience. Hercules quickly ushered them out of the box and to the front doors, and they were only stopped briefly by a shorter lady in a pristine uniform who complimented John’s bare arms. 

“Oh, thank you Miss…” John grasped for a name but could not find one. 

 

“Wayles. Martha Wayles.” The auburn haired lady said. “I’ve been fighting with your fiancee. She’s a woman of excellent character. Good evening, gentlemen.”

 

“Good evening Miss Wayles.” Hercules said graciously, and continued to escort the boys to the opera house doors. John threw his coat over his shoulder while Lafayette carried his own. The night air was cold, and John instantly regretted not putting his coat all the way on.

 

“Where is the carriage?” Hercules grumbled, searching through the crowd.

 

“Allow me.” Alexander had somehow caught up with the three during the brief moment they had paused. “Hey!” He shouted, and the crowd practically parted for him. The other three followed in surprised submission more than anything else. They were at their carriage in less than two minutes. 

 

Hercules was suspicious of him due to his friendship with Theodosia, and refused to allow Alexander to help him in. Lafayette accepted out of politeness more than anything else. As he aided John, he touched his arm above the elbow. Flushed and nervous, John turned around. Alexander was looking at him, with those dark glittering eyes and his tender smile.

 

Only after they had reached home, after they departed to their separate rooms and after a servant helped John change into a plain, long, white nightshirt with graphite smeared on the edges of the wide sleeves could John clearly think about what had happened to him.

 

“O God, I am lost!” He exclaimed to himself, looking at the figure in the mirror he no longer recognized as himself. John slowly moved his hand to where Alexander had left that last pressing touch, and gently stroked the thin fabric over his arms. “How could I let him?” He mumbled as he sunk to his knees and buried his face in his hands trying to understand what had happened and what he felt, but found himself unable to. Everything was dark, obscure and terrible. “O God, I am lost.” John repeated softly. 

 

Back in that enormous theater that was full of lights, where the tenors had jumped around to music in tinsel jackets, and the young girls and old men had all cried “bravo!” in rapture - there it had all seemed simple and clear. But now, alone and by himself, John was tortured. 

 

Lafayette would either not understand or be horrified at such a confession, so John was forced to solve what was torturing him by himself. He picked himself up from the floor and dragged himself to his bed, replaying the possible outcomes from tonight’s encounter. His conscience was not helpful, and gnawed away at his heart. “Am I spoiled for Angelica’s kindness or not?” he asked himself.  _ Oh, you could sooth yourself with all the irony in the world with that question.  _ Of course it had been nothing, he had done nothing. “I didn’t lead him on at all.” John tried to convince himself. But no one could ever know. Then again it wasn’t like it mattered, he’d never see Hamilton again. It was plain that nothing has happened and if nothing had happened then there was nothing to repent of, and Angelica and he could still protect one another without doubt. They would be safe together. John felt a sense of longing build up in his chest as he reflected upon the encounter they had had with the solider while leaving.  _ O God, why isn’t she here? _

 

John quieted his thoughts for a moment, but some instinct told him that though all this was true, and though nothing had happened, his purity had perished some how. It was like there had been nothing between him and Alexander. No veil, no modesty as their should have been. All that consumed him now was thoughts of his handsome face and strong hands. John fell asleep remembering those dark glittering eyes and tender smile. And he dreamed, not of what he should have, but of that bold handsome man who pressed his arm.


	10. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was a doozy to write. eliza is a little more self destructive than she's normally portrayed, but that's the pierre in her. 
> 
> alternatively titled "theodosia, alex ur two married please don't be like"

After the mostly boring night at the opera, with of course the key exception of holding a conversation with John, Alexander had an itch under his skin. Burr was in the mood, so the pair decided to go out. Burr had just left Alexander standing in the middle of the street so he could go off and pick up some liquor to ease them into the night. Alexander was surprised to see the governess standing by an oil-fueled streetlight, and joined her. “Good evening, Eliza. Studying?”

  
Eliza gave him a dutiful nod. “Yes. How was the opera?” She asked out of politeness rather than curiosity. 

  
“Lovely.” Alexander waited for a beat. “Jack Laurens was there.”

  
Eliza seemed unexpectedly pleased. “Oh?” She looked up the slightest to make eye contact with Alexander, and in the process her dark hair seemed to disappear into the inky blackness of the night. “Oh charming dear Angelica’s betrothed? I have known him since he was a child, and long carried affection for him.” She had known the entire family for years.

  
“Yes, charming.” Alexander fixated on that word, before he shook his head and focused to his original intention. “Look, Burr’s coming around and we are off to the club. Will you come old hag?” The hag was in teasing, it had been since they were young. 

  
While she could easily manifest hundreds of reasons why she would rather not, something possessed Eliza to say “I will come.”

  
He was caught off guard for a moment, clearly expecting her to gently turn him down. But Alexander was determined to make the best of his luck while he had it. “Lend me fifty rubles?”   
  


Eliza arched a graceful eyebrow and giggled, and Alexander matched it.

  
Burr caught up with the pair, and had multiple bottles of vodka in his hand. “Drink, drink!” He cheered, passing a bottle to Alexander “Gonna drink tonight!” He laughed, clearly already slightly intoxicated. Burr turned, and realized that Eliza had joined them. “Gonna drink tonight?” He asked her, offering her a bottle. Eliza laughed and accepted it graciously, and Burr responded with a charming smile. “Gonna drink, gonna drink, gonna drink tonight!” He took an impressive swig from an opened bottle.

 

His good mood was infectious, and Eliza found herself quickly slipping into a familiar cheerfulness brought by upon by alcohol.  

 

“Drink, drink!” Alexander cheered, raising his bottle. 

 

Burr took another drink, and called back, “Gonna drink tonight!”   
  


“Gonna drink tonight.” Eliza piped up, tightening her grip on the bottle she would need to remember to pay Burr back for.    
  


“Gonna,” Burr started, looking to Alexander.

 

“Gonna drink,” Alexander joined in, and turned expectantly to Eliza for her to join them.

 

The trio vowed together “Gonna drink tonight, gonna drink tonight, “ and found themselves at the door of Burr’s favorite club. Burr held the door, Alexander went in first and Eliza followed. She visibly relaxed in the comfortable heat of the club. There were dozens of couples and singles out dancing, and the heavy smell of smoke and booze rose up in vapors. The group looked at one another, and all proclaimed “Gonna drink tonight!”   
  


Alexander opened his bottle, and poured himself several shots using a dirty whisky glass left by a former patron. Eliza politely asked the bartender to bring her a copper mug full of ice which she filled before drinking. Burr continued to drink from his open bottle while propping a leg up on the barstool versus sitting on it like his companions were.

 

Eliza was simultaneously remind why she hated and loved going out. The club was full of high screams and flashing lights, but the screams were of delight, the people were friendly, and there was plenty of alcohol for her to consume. She filled her cold mug again, and leaned against the bar so she could fully observe the high energy of the room.  
  
A familiar drinking song rose up from the back corner of the club. Burr looked at Alexander, and picked the next line. “Drink with me my love!”

 

Alexander laughed lowly, and answered with the following lyric “For there's fire in the sky!”

  
“And there's ice on the ground!” Eliza responded.

  
Burr threw his arms around Eliza and Alexander’s necks as the three of them completed the verse. “Either way my soul will die!”

  
A chorus of “whoas” could be heard all around them, and the trio laughed and sunk into a familiarity that Eliza could see herself getting used to. She knew very little of Burr, other than all the mysteries that surrounded him. He said little, but willing shared his smile. Alexander had been a thorn in Eliza’s side for a long time, but she enjoyed him. His mother had been the one that taught Eliza how to govern and as a byproduct had given Eliza the majority of her education. She could never read Alexander like she could most people. She just knew that he would always throw himself into the most dangerous situation possible.   
  
As she took another heavy swig, an annoyance crept up in the back of her mind. The doctors had warned Eliza that with her corpulence, vodka and wine were dangerous for her. But she drank a great deal. The governess was only quite at ease after pouring several glasses mechanically into her small mouth. She could probably drink the entire club under the table, despite her smaller stature. 

 

After drinking for a bit, she felt a pleasant warmth in her body, a sentimental attachment to her fellow men, and a readiness to respond to every idea superficially without probing it deeply as she usually did.   
  
A slim figure with her hair uncharacteristically down wove through the club. Her pearls glowed in the low light, and Theodosia Prevost, who had sworn to Eliza that she would spend the night at home, slid up to Burr, who smiled expectantly at her. Eliza did not seem to notice, and topped herself off prematurely. 

 

“Keep drinking old hag.” Theodosia hissed under her breath as she watched her governess. Her version of hag had none of the warm gentle teasings that Alexander’s had contained meer hours ago.   
  
Burr gave Theodosia a puzzled look. He had taken a liking to Alexander’s friend. She was charming, and made no advances on Burr or patronized him. “Why did you call her a hag?”

 

Theodosia rolled her eyes, and pressed a sweet kiss to Burr’s cheek. “Your drinking friend is my governess.” Theodosia was amazed with Burr’s ignorance. He was so intelligent, she wondered how they had snuck around for this long without him ever seeing Eliza. 

 

“Well,” a bitter look of resignation crossed Burr’s face. “Then keep drinking old hag.”  
  
Alexander was well aware of his dear friend’s arrival, but found himself more worried about Eliza than excited about dancing with Theodosia. _Oh Eliza, she could drink the whole night through_. But the governess could not read his mind or worry, and kept drinking.  
  
An unfamiliar, rather seedy patron slapped Eliza hard on the shoulder, causing her to jump the slightest. “Keep drinking old hag!” He slurred. Eliza forced a smile, and made a small toast with him. 

 

The term hag had always bothered Eliza. She was twenty seven, and should have married years ago. Her inheritance and recent discovery of her father had even ascended social classes far beyond what was normally feasible. Eliza should be married with children, but instead she worked as a governess. So she was a hag.   
  
Eliza didn’t want to deal with the other rowdy visitors at the club. So she drank more than she should have.  
  
“Now Alexander, what are you in the mood for tonight?” Theodosia was attempting to avoid discover, so Burr pulled her to her side and had joined Alexander at the other end of the club. Burr tilted his head the slightest bit to the left while he appraised the room. “Moscow men or romani girls? Perhaps French models?”

 

Alexander did not respond, for he was trying to figure out why Theodosia had risked her freedom by coming tonight. She turned her neck to make sure Eliza wasn’t watching to soberly, and her pearls captured the light in the most curious way. The same pearls that had captivated John earlier that evening. By God, it was still the same day. John had made a greater impression on him than Alexander had previously suspected. Not that he minded. “John, John.” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes in a slight bliss.

 

It was so uncharacteristic of Alexander to grow distracted, Theodosia couldn’t contain a small laugh. “What about John, dear Alex?” She asked, using his nickname that Alexander permitted only her to use.    
  


“His arms, his shoulders.” Alexander mused, sighing contently. “His neck, his feet.” His eyes popped open at an image that had come to the front of his mind. “Oh, his freckles. You saw them, Theodosia. They cover every inch of his skin.”  
  
Theodosia could never resist teasing Alexander for his refined tastes. “The air of connoisseur.” She said as she playfully dug her elbow into his side.  
  
“I will make love to him.” Alexander declared boldly.   
  
Burr exchanged a sudden look with Theodosia and exclaimed “Better not misour. He’s first rate, but nothing but trouble.” Alexander scowled at him. Theodosia grasped his arm to make sure he was still clairvoyant. 

 

“Better wait till he’s married!” Theodosia and Burr warned together. 

 

Alexander was particularly grumpy with that. “Hypocrites.“

  
Theodosia balled up her fist so she wouldn’t do something stupid to attract attention to herself, like slapping some sense into Alexander. “We’re not and you know it.” Theodosia was married, however unhappily, but her husband was not here so she could do as she pleased. Burr was happy to romance ladies both in and out marriage, for he himself was not married. Alexander was a married man, a fact known only to his intimates, and could not afford such a luxury. A Polish landowner of some small means had forced him to marry his daughter. Alexander had taken haste to abandon his wife, whose name Burr had never learned nor did Alexander seem eager to share. Theodosia knew, but she had no plans on revealing so to Alexander. He payed his father-in-law a small stripined so Alexander could pass off as a bachelor.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

  
“Nevermind about that now, it doesn't matter, I don't give a damn.” Alexander said dismissively, with a wave of his hand. Burr wished he cared more. “Just as a duck is made to swim in water, God has made me as I am. All I care for is gaiety and entertainment and there's no dishonor in that! As long as there's money and vodka, I'll keep a feather in my hat.” Alexander finished with a nod, as if that settled everything.  
  
The club was having a wild night, and all the visitors sunk into a deeper level of intoxication.   
  
Eliza used to love. She used to love, she used to be better. Instead she now drunk herself away at a club. She felt contempt for herself rise up in her gut. 

 

“Keep drinking old hag!” cheered an oblivious woman with rosey cheeks. Eliza wanted to deck her, but compromised with drinking. A figure just beyond the woman caught Eliza’s eye. A familiar figure.  
  
“Yes drink, drink, drink.” crooned Theodosia as she made unexpected, unafraid eye contact with Eliza.”Drink, drink, drink.” Eliza could feel the contempt in her words. “God, to think I’m governed by a woman like you.” The last words are practically spat, and infuriate Eliza in a way they wouldn’t have had she been sober.   
  
“Don't speak to me, child.” Eliza barked, causing Theodosia to reel back. “There is something inside me.” She added to herself.  
  
After recovering from the initial shock, Theodosia boldly stuck her glass out to Burr. “Burr pour me another!” She called, never dropping her cold gaze from Eliza.  
  
Something terrible and monstrous rose in Eliza while she watched her new acquaintance serve the girl she was supposed to be protecting. Burr delicately put the bottle down before realizing that Eliza was glaring at him. He stomped his foot to gather the attention of the club. Once everyone’s eyes were on him, Burr raised his glass in a toast.  
  
“Well, now here's to the health of married women!” He said with a serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Burr turned his glass to Eliza “Here's to the health of married women - and their lovers!” He added, and the occupants of the club laughed with good nature.

 

Eliza dropped her eyes and drank from the mug and tightened her grip. She blocked out the club’s response to Burr’s toast, blocked out the obnoxious laughter, blocked out the grip the alcohol was taking on her. What she could not block out was the way Burr held Theodosia to him, the way her eyes shone when she looked at the assassin, and the soft sigh that Theodosia emitted as she went in to kiss Burr.  
  
Eliza could not stop the anger boiling in her. She dropped her copper mug, and grabbed Burr’s arm with surprising strength. “How dare you touch her!”   
  
Burr did not seem bothered like a wiser man would have, and leaned in to hiss in Eliza’s face “You can't save her for that Frenchman.”   
  
“Enough!” Eliza spat, causing Burr to instantly repel backwards and give her space. “You bully, you scoundrel!” She puffed her chest and looked Burr right in the eye. “I challenge you!”  
  
A childlike look of surprise washed over Burr’s face. “Oh, a duel!” He said. “Yes, this is what I like.”  
  
Panic instantly set in Theodosia. “He will kill you!” she begged. “Stupid governess!”  
  
“So I shall be killed, what is it to you?” Eliza brushed her aside and gave her a distasteful look. Theodosia’s face fell, but she did not argue. Eliza turned, and extended her arm “Alexander, my guns.”  
  
Alexander shook his head, but complied with a long look on his face. “Oh! This is horribly stupid.” He told her with urgency that went over her head.  
  
Eliza wasn’t bothered by his worry either. She couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid. Either she would kill Burr, or he would kill her. She didn’t preoccupy herself with considerations like she would have had she not spent the whole night drinking. “Just show me where to go, and tell me when to shoot.” She said to Alexander with a gentle smile as they loaded the guns.  
  
“Just wait till you're close enough,” Alexander muttered, watching Eliza with growing worry. They both shared odd backgrounds, and she had never judged him for it, even before she found out about her father, and it would be a great blow to lose her. But Alexander was also close with Burr and nobody would be able to replace that bond he had with him if Eliza were to kill him. For one of the first times in his life, Alexander really didn’t know what to do. So he stuck with what he was doing, which was advising Eliza. _She probably needs it more_. He tried to rationalize with himself. Whatever happened, Alexander would never forgive himself if either were mortally wounded. “You'll never hit him from forty paces.”

 

Burr stood ready, and clapped his hand with excitement. “Well, let's begin!” He said, looking expectantly at his second, Charles Lee, who had also gone from the opera house to the club that night. They weren’t particularly close, but Burr knew better than to ask Alexander to betray Eliza. “This is child's play.” He sneered.

 

As luck would have it, Isabella Graham, one of Eliza’s close correspondence whom she had met when she moved to Moscow, was also present at the club that night. Isabella volunteered to serve as her second, and now was standing with Lee. Lee wrung his hands, and looked at Isabella. She gave him an apprehensive nod, but her eyes were on the pair of duelers. Lee hated dueling, it was how he got injured in the war and was the reason he was sent home and now walked with a limp. Isabella hated violence, which caused her to hate dueling. 

 

“As the adversaries have refused a reconciliation, we shall please proceed with the duel.” Lee said nervously. “Ready your pistols, and on the count of tri, begin to advance.”  
  
“Rahz!” Isabella called out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she watched Eliza. “Dva!” She could smell Lee’s sweat, and it was making her more anxious. “Tri!” Isabella’s voice unintentionally wavered a slight bit with fear. Alexander was clutching Theodosia and the pair looked ready to burst into tears at any moment.   
  
On Isabella’s last call, Eliza and Burr quickly began to walk towards one another. Burr’s eyes were shrouded and unable to be read, but Eliza’s were fiery pools of anger. She gripped her pistol even harder than she had her glass earlier that night.   
  
“Eliza, hold your fire,” Alexander called from the side. Eliza raised her arm, and made a face of terror that did nothing to deter Burr. 

  
“Eliza, hold your fire!” Panic was rising in Alexander’s voice as Eliza steadied her arm and squinted to make sure her aim was correct. “Eliza, not yet!” Alexander cried, tightening his grip on Theodosia, who had been overcome by her nerves.   
  
Ignoring him, Eliza fired her gun. She struck Burr in the side, causing him to stumble for a step and take a pause.

 

“No!” He growled, raising his arm and moving with a new urgency. “Shot by a fool!”

 

His opponent's face was full of nothing but regret. “No, wait, I didn’t…” She mumbled, at horror with herself.

 

Burr did not take kindly to her sudden change of heart. “Quiet old hag. My turn.”

 

Eliza forced the sorrow out of her heart. There was no room for it here, and she would be accused of being a soft stupid woman for it. “My turn.” She spat, as she turned her shoulders and fully exposed her chest as a target. She tried to ignore the hot tears running down her face.  
  
“Eliza, stand back!” Tears of fear were in Alexander’s eyes. Burr would recover but if Eliza was struck she most certainly would not.   
  
Burr fired. Isabella and Lee had both closed their eyes. Theodosia screamed. The echo of the gunshot rang in the air for a heavy moment.   
  
“Missed, missed.” Burr babbled. He had fallen to his knees after shooting, and was holding his side. “Oh my mother, my angel, my adored angel mother!” Burr closed his eyes and fell to his injured side, and continued to ramble. Lee and Isabella both raced to his side to aid him. Lee looked to Theodosia for guidance. 

 

“Take him away.” Theodosia whispered to Alexander. He gave her a gentle touch of reassurance before going to help Isabella and Lee. They picked up Burr and carried him to a troika where he could go get a doctor’s help.

 

Lee raised his chin in an attempt to look put together, and announced for the viewers. “The sun is rising. The duel is at its end.”

 

“And Eliza Schuyler the winner.“ Isabella looked sadly at her friend. She knew Eliza not to be the type for violence. But the reputation she was about to gain for shooting the assassin was not going to be one of a mild, kind woman.   
  
Eliza was in shock and had not moved. “Missed, missed,” her mumbling echoing Burr’s. Had she wanted to get shot? Is that why she didn’t listen to Alexander, and had challenged Burr to begin with? Was she just holding her word and protecting Theodosia, or was she being selfish? She looked at the two seconds, and parroted “Winner.” Confusion flooded her. _Such a storm of feelings._ Eliza needed to go home, and not touch liquor for a good while. __  
  
Theodosia felt an odd feeling gather inside of her as she watched her governess walk away into the night. A rare pity for Eliza that was fighting with anger for shooting Burr. Contempt mixed with sorrow. “You are a fool.” She said softly, as she watched Eliza walk off.   
  
Alexander returned, and Theodosia chose not to comment on the spot of blood on her friend’s sleeve. She embraced him, and they stood holding one another for a while. 

 

The sun fully appeared before either spoke again, and Alexander was the one to break the silence. “Sister, are you alright?’  
  
Theodosia choked back a sob, and looked at him through her still wet face. “Quite.” She hiccuped. It was a lie, but so was Alexander calling her sister.   
  


“How I adore you sister.” Alexander comforted while he rocked them side to side. 

 

_ He wants something. _ Theodosia pressed a small kiss near his ear. She loved Alexander like he were her brother. But she knew when he was turning up the charm so he could better manipulate.

 

Alexander had the decency to wait another minute for them to start walking back to the sleds before he asked “Will you ask John to the ball?” Alexander gave Theodosia a hopeful smile that she couldn’t refuse despite every nerve in her body telling her to put him in his place.

 

“Of course dear brother.” Theodosia knew she couldn’t keep Alexander for pursuing John, and could only blame herself for introducing the pair. If Alexander could just control his impulses and hold off for a couple months, it would be far safer for the both of them. 

 

The pair stopped when they realized a third troika was waiting with theirs. The small figure of Eliza was still standing there, and had been for an hour at least. The pair exchanged a look, and Theodosia quickly left while Alexander carefully approached Eliza. 

 

“Come on old hag let’s get you home.” He said gently while he put a guiding hand on her shoulder. 

 

Eliza, who had previously laughed and the nickname, now bristled with its use. “In a moment.” 

  
Alexander looked at Eliza for a long moment. Neither refused to budge. “Sleep it off, and be happy.” Alexander said finitely, as he walked away to his own sled. Before he got in, he turned around and added “We live to love another day.”


	11. Dust and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love josh groban more than i love hot chocolate and warm fires in the middle of winter. dust and ashes is perfect and i want to play it on loop for the rest of my life
> 
> alternativley titled "this song could raise me from the dead"

_ Is this how I die?  _ Eliza felt the cold, suddenly unfamiliar air, enter and exit her lungs while she stared off in shock. She had finally gotten in her sled, which had arrived by some miracle because she knows she did not summon it. News traveled fast in Moscow. She was traveling to home fast, but could not find an ounce of focus in her bones. 

 

She had been ridiculed and laughed at. She looked down to the bottom of her dress that had been ruined by the elements, and grew even more disgusted with herself. She was wearing clown shoes. She kicked the slippers off as fast as she could.

 

_ Is this how I die? Furious and reckless. _ It wasn’t who she was, but it was certainly how she lived. A wave a nausea hit Eliza, and she controlled herself from vomiting in her troika. The poor driver had it hard enough as it was. It didn’t help that she always seemed to be sick with booze lately. 

 

She couldn’t help but wonder - How did I live? In her night of regret, she could taste every wasted minute. Every time she turned away from the things that might have healed her.

 

They came in flashes. Her mother Catherine, when Eliza was around ten, insisting that she needn't worry herself with the man she believed to be her father, and urging her to send less time trying to get him to like her.  _ Oh, the time that would have saved me _ . Angelica, just over a year ago, gently telling Eliza that maybe war wasn’t the place for her, and she was safer back at home.  _ I ignored her until I nearly got all my friends killed and they forced me home. _ Peggy, six years ago, urging Eliza to run off with her and live a bohemian life with the troika drivers. _ I thought she was crazy, going to end up rapped and murder. _ And only last week, Maria. Offering to clean out her house with her, to throw away all of the garbage that was weighing her down.  _ I laughed in her face. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, I was drunk.  _ Hercules Mulligan, when Eliza had just moved to Moscow with her inheritance that she didn’t know what to do with, letting her stay with him until she bought a house, and fed her, took her to church, helped her make friends.  _ I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, and pushed him away the minute I moved out.  _

 

God, how long had she been sleeping?

 

_ Is this how I die? _ She was not proud to be herself now. At the duel, she had been frightened like a child. She had gone lazy and numb thanks to her drinking.

 

_ Is this how I die? _ Eliza had spent the last year pretending and preposterous while she studied her life away. And she had been dumb. Dumb with rage, dumb with regret, dumb with fear and hate and anger and all of the things that made humanity a nightmare. 

 

When faced with death, Eliza couldn’t help but wonder what every human wondered.  _ How did I live?  _

Was she kind enough and good enough? She knew the answer but refused to contemplate it.

_ Did I love enough? _ Ha, could Eliza even love anymore? Did she ever look up and see the pale moon and the bright stars and the inky sky? She couldn’t remember the last time she looked up at night. She felt tears, real tears not the hot ones of regret from earlier, flood her eyes. “Oh why have I been sleeping?” She cursed. 

 

They say we are asleep until we fall in love. We are children of dust and ashes. But when we fall in love we wake up. And we are a God, and angels weep.

 

But if Eliza had died here tonight, she knew that she would have died in her sleep.

 

The sled had reached her front door, and Eliza wordlessly left. The rising sun was hidden behind dark clouds, and Eliza felt as if it were still dark night. She entered her great, empty house, and left her travelling coat by the door. Her slippers were forgotten in the sled. Without speaking to any servants, she took herself to her room, which was flooded with books and papers and essays and letters she would never send. 

 

All of her life she spent searching the words of poets and saints and prophets and kings. She could recall the texts from her memory as clear as day, and their irony was not wasted on her. “And now at the end all I know that I’ve learned is that all that I know is I don’t know a thing.” She proclaimed, falling into bed.

 

It was so easy to close herself off and place the blame outside. She often hid in her room at night, so terrifically terrified of all the things she could have been. But Eliza had never had the nerve that her friends like Alexander had, the nerve that Theodosia had that drove a wedge between the two of them, the nerve Angelica had that made her unafraid to claim what she wanted. Life and love, Eliza didn’t deserve.

 

“So all right, all right I’ve had my time!” Eliza surprised herself by screaming what was left of her voice raw. She closed her eyes and prayed that death bells would chime. Another cry left her lips without her permission, and it enraged her further. She suddenly grew aware to the fact that she was still wearing her dress from earlier that night, and had a sudden wave of claustrophobia hit her. She needed this dress off now. Eliza was shaking and letting out a wide array of scream-like sounds, so it took her a long while to concentrate and find the knife she always kept at her bedside. She slashed her dress right down the front, and escaped it like a butterfly does it chrysalis. She fell back to lay in the center of her bed and gasped for air like it was being taken from the room. She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of imaginary death bells once again. 

 

She would be buried in burgundy, Eliza decided. She didn’t know why she chose one of the colors she despised the most, but she just didn’t care. _ Nothing’s left. _ She looked everywhere around her room. Disorganized studying materials, half a dozen portraits, three candles that she needed to throw away and one burning one, the dress she had just destroyed lying at the foot of her bed. Great disorder, utter chaos. How poetically it mirrored her life. Her empty but messy life, devoid of any meaning or order.  

 

_ Is this how I die? _ Eliza laughed, and pressed her face to her pillow to block it all out. Was there ever any other way her life could be? She cried out again, as death stared her in the face again.  _ Such a storm of feelings inside of me.  _ It was a storm with order. Over and over, it repeated the only truth she now knew. She wanted to die, she wanted to die, she wanted to die. She grasped around for the knife, searching for her final release.

 

_ But then why am I screaming? _ Eliza halted herself, and rocked back onto her knees.  _ Why am I shaking?  _ If she truly craved death, truly wanted to die in the miserable way she almost had tonight, why did she care about it? “Oh God, was there something that I missed?” She caught a fragment of her reflection in the mirror, and averted her eyes out of shame. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had squandered her divinity? Black horror rose in Eliza while she completed something that she had never considered.  _ Was happiness within me the whole time? _

 

“They say we are asleep until we fall in love.” Eliza grumped, and collapsed face first back on her bed. “We are children of dust and ashes.” She couldn’t recall the exact passage she was quoting, but she knew it came from a plain brown book with a spine with gold accents. She pressed her eyebrows together, grasping for the rest of the line. “But when we fall in love we wake up, and we are a God and angels weep.” She rolled to her side, and pushed her dark hair away from her face to free it. Why was that verse sticking with her so strongly at this moment? “But if I die here tonight,” she said slowly, unlocking the root of her pain, “I die in my sleep.”

 

The truth of her realization hit her in the chest like an arrow. It sobered Eliza up faster than any other remedy would.  _ They say we are asleep until we fall in love.  _ Eliza was asleep, had been her whole life. She had momentarily stirred when happiness found its way into her life, but she had never met love. Despite her stirrings, she had remained asleep. And she was so ready to wake up now.

 

_ I want to wake up, _ Eliza decided, and burst into a fresh wave of tears. “Don’t let me die while I’m like this,” she blubbered, “I-I-I want to wake u-up.”  _ God don’t let me die while I’m like this.  _ She pulled at her hair until it tore and hurt, but Eliza didn’t care because the pain meant she could feel again. Her face was drenched, but the more of mess she became, the more determined she grew. Eliza curled her knees to her chest on top of her covers, and clasped her hands together in prayer. “Please let me wake up now,” she begged, more clairvoyantly, “God don’t let me die while I’m like this.” Her body was racked with more tears, and Eliza cried out every liquid in her vessel. 

  
“I’m ready,” Eliza whispered, letting the last of her tears wet her pillow. She sat herself up, dried her eyes and uttered with the utmost certainty “I’m ready to wake up.”


	12. Sunday Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think sunday mornings is such a lovely, light song. it breaks my heart not having dust and ashes to work with yet, but i'll just have an excuse to revisit when the cast album comes out so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also the comet trailer came out today and im totally dead
> 
> alternatively titled "the calm before the shitstorm"

John woke slowly with unusual feeling in his chest left over from the night before. Had Angelica arrived? Is that why he was feeling this way? John grabbed a servant that was walking by with clean dresses in her arms. 

 

“Has Angelica arrived?” He asked with urgency. 

 

The servant gave him a sad smile and a short shake no. John dropped his hand, and the servant continued on her way. 

  
_She has not arrived. She will never come._ John closed his eyes to bat off the negativity, but all he was met with images of the night before. Recollection of the old prince and poor Princess Maria, the theater and of Hamilton mingled with his other thoughts. A slight fear took hold in John, and he leaned against a wall to steady his rapid heart. _Or something will happen to me before she does._ His conscious was not more helpful now than it had been last night.   
  
Loud footsteps alerted John of his godfather’s presence. Hercules was happy to see John up. “Come to church dear.” He said gently, and nodded back to John’s room to indicate he should return and change.   
  
Hercules Mulligan liked Sundays and knew how to keep them. His whole house had been scrubbed and cleaned on Saturdays; neither he nor the servants worked. At the table, there were extra dishes for servants. Roast goose and suckling pig filled their noses with glee every week. The whole house would wear holiday dress and traveled by troika to church.  
  
Hercules would always be happy and exclaim “God is everywhere!” in his rich, warm voice.

 

John was expecting Princess Angelica at any moment, and twice that day sent a manservant to the monastery on Vozdvizhenka street to find out for certain that she had not come. John’s answer did not change that entire drawn-out Sunday. He suffered more now than before. That stupid theater and… Alexander. That man who had aroused such terrible feelings, unnatural feelings,  _ wrong _ feelings. John couldn’t understand what was happening. Yes, he favored men, he knew this, had known this for a long time. But Alexander was different somehow. Alexander caused a funny feeling in his chest, removed the oxygen from his lungs, and seemed terribly familiar. Did this mean he had broken his promise to Angelica? They had sworn to wait until after marriage for any affairs. Their facade could not weather a scandal, especially if it was with John and a man.  _ Am I guilty of betrayal? _

  
After church, Hercules left his house for Prince Reynold’s less favorable one. He had been horribly offended when John had recollected his visit after church in the parlour with his godfather and cousin.   
  
“The rudeness of that man!” Hercules said, and dropped his needlework in furry. “I'll straighten him out!”  
  
“That terrible old Prince.” John sighed. He was thinking of Princess Maria, and trying to fathom what it would be like to put up with him for every day, all by herself. He suspected that even his most horrible images fell short of the true terror.   
  
Lafayette put his teacup down to rest a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder “There, there John, it's not your fault.” He pulled his cousin into an embrace, and in an attempt to offer more comfort, offered his cheek and said, “Here, kiss me.”  
  
John complied, and turned to his godfather before he left. “I can't bear to think of it.”

 

Hercules thought for a moment. “I’ll see if that kind seamster from Madame Hemmings is free to bring over some new clothes.”

 

The seamster was free, and was at the Rostovs house by the end of the hour. He waited on them patiently, and had brought dozens upon dozens of new waistcoats, undershirts and riding pants with him. John was very glad for this diversion, and shut himself in his room to try on the new clothes.    
  


Hercules had not been gone for more than an hour when there was a knock at the door. John was in the midst of trying on a dark, form fitting undershirt, so Lafayette went to answer the door. John had just turned his head to the glass to see how the back fit when he heard a voice that made him blush. 


	13. Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theodosia seduces john but in a friend way? it's been fun to write her as helene bc we never see her in hamilton and i can't help but imagine she has this giant, infectious personality like helene.
> 
> alternatively titled "hey theo i love you but where is ur chill"

Theodosia gave a brief introduction to Lafayette, before explaining she was here to visit John. She apparently had something very important to discuss with him and couldn’t wait a moment. Lafayette wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. He had not received Hercules’s warning at the opera, and only recognized her from other gossip he had heard in Moscow. He thought she seemed polite, if a little risky in clothing, and had no reason to distrust her. Lafayette lead Theodosia to John’s room, where she let herself in without a warning.

 

“Oh my enchanter!” she cried to John, causing him to blush. “Oh you beautiful thing, so charming!” she ran her hands along the tight shoulders that went to looser sleeves, and hummed gently. “No, this is really beyond anything.” Theodosia praised John’s choices of clothes. “You know, Count, I have this new dress made of a ‘metallic gauze’ that has a twin waistcoat. You should get one, straight from Paris. But anything suits you, my charmer!” She remarked. 

 

Theodosia’s final praise caused John’s face to flush in surprise. He was still fairly unused to female attention, since he actively avoided it when he could afford to. He did greatly admire Theodosia and aspired to her confidence and sexuality, which was also part of the reason he turned red. 

 

This only encouraged Theodosia. “Oh how he blushes, how he blushes, my pretty!” She pinched his cheek lovingly, and sang “Charmante, charmante!” John wondered if he should correct her pronunciation, and decided that it would be rude. He thought that Theodosia must be fun, not smart. 

 

Theodosia skimmed her hands across John’s chest in a light, teasing fashion. “You are such a lovely thing, oh where have you been?” she looked at him fondly with bright eyes. They didn’t have Alexander’s intelligence, but contained a guile that John had never seen before. Maybe she wasn’t smart, but she certainly knew what she was doing. And maybe that was more important than being smart. 

 

“You know, John, it’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country.” John laughed at the thought, and Theodosia gave him a serious look. “It’s a waste, charmante, charmante,” a clever smile and artful tongue curled as she hissed “charming!”

 

Her thin, long fingers ran over a particularly handsome overcoat with a thick fur collar. Theodosia picked it up, and held it up to John. “Now if you have a greatcoat, you must wear it out.” she tossed the garment at him, and John surged forward to catch it. This was one of his own articles that his father had bought him, and despite their disagreements, John loved it because it was the same color of green that his mother always used to wear. 

 

“How can you live in Moscow, and not go nowhere?” Theodosia marveled, cocking an eyebrow in a casual manner that would have been hilarious had her question not flustered John. He stuttered out some half excuse, and subconsciously let his eyes fall to the graphite portrait of Angelica that John had drawn and kept on a golden table by a great mirror. “So you love somebody, charming.” Theodosia snorted, and John gave her a half-hearted scowl. She waved her hand dismissively. “But that’s no reason to shut yourself in. Even if you’re engaged, you must wear your dandy clothes out somewhere!”

 

John’s eyes fell to the clothes he had been trying on. His distraction was long lost, and Theodosia was confusing him. Shouldn’t she want him to stay loyal? That was good, and she should want him to be good. She had a husband off fighting in the war, not a fiancee like John. A bit of gossip Lafayette had told him on their way over to Moscow flooded to the front of John’s memory. He had said that one of the most prominent socialites had a french husband fighting for Napoleon. She distracted herself with men, and was watched by a terrible old, drunk governess. John wouldn’t consider Eliza old or a terrible drunk, but he would bet a thousand rubles that the socialite they had gossiped about was Theodosia. 

Before John could form a new opinion about Theodosia, she warped her elongated arm around his shoulder and pulled him in to whisper in his ear “My friend Alex dined with me yesterday,” it took John a moment to realize she was talking about Alexander “but he didn’t eat a thing.” She pulled away so John could see her sad pout, before she playfully growled “Cuz he was thinking ‘bout you, he kept sighing ‘bout you.” 

 

John’s mind completely blanked. He knew Alexander reciprocated his feelings, he knew he hadn’t been a total fool at the opera. But Theodosia knew? And Alexander had freely told her? The scarlet from earlier had faded, but now was replaced by an innocent pinkish color that highlighted the constellation of freckles on the apples of John’s cheeks. 

 

“Oh how he blushes, how he blushes, my pretty!” Theodosia giggled with absolute delight, as she spun John around. “Oh how he blushes, how he blushes, my pretty!” she repeated, dancing around him and all the clothes in his room, artfully never misstepping once. John admired her grace. She picked up a cravat, and slung it around John’s neck to pull herself closer and childishly nuzzle his nose with her own. “Charmante, charmante!” 

 

Her mood was infectious, and John couldn’t help repeat a phrase she had said earlier that had struck him. “It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country!” Theodosia gasped with excitement, and eagerly unhooked the two strands of pearls around her neck and attached them to John’s in a singular, swift motion. “Charmante.” she hushed. John looked at them in surprise. They looked just as lovely on him as they had on Theodosia. His eyes shot back up to hers, which were wide and innocent, as if she had no choice but to bestow him with her gift. He opened his mouth to refuse, but she placed a finger over his mouth to stop him. 

 

“Now a man with a undershirt like this, is a frightening and powerful thing.” She said lowly. “You are not a child when you’re draped lace-free in black.” Theodosia’s face had taken a sudden severe look that caused John to take a handful of steps back in retaliation. She pointed to Angelica’s portrait with her left hand, and threw her other arm out. “Your fiance would want you to have fun, rather than be bored to death.” Her arms fell to her side and she gave John a slightly helpless look that took away all the dangerous edges her face had previously displayed. “Allez dans le monde plutôt que de dépérir d’ennui!” Theodosia mused in french. 

 

She slowly walked over to John, and opened her palm to request his hand. John hesitantly gave Theodosia his hand, and she gave him a surprisingly soft smile. “My friend is quite madly in love.” she said plainly. “He is quite madly in love with you,” she bent down to press a light kiss to his hand “my dear.”

 

This time, the blush came from the plainness of Theodosia that not many saw. Rarely did she let anyone think she was simple, even if it was only acting. “Oh how he blushes, how he blushes, my pretty.” Theodosia hummed, and caused John to blush even more. She was doing this for Alexander. She was helping her friend, because he could not seek out John himself.  _ Hell if I know what he plans to do.  _ Theodosia was nothing if she wasn’t a good friend to Alexander. A shit wife, and horrible to Eliza. But she was good to Alexander. He needed all the kindness he could get. 

 

“Charmante, charmante.” John said as his blush faded. Theodosia had released his hand after the kiss, and he was absentmindedly toying with the pearls Theodosia had given him. 

 

_ He’s such a lovely, innocent thing. _ Theodosia thought, while reaching her hand out to playfully pinch John’s chin and force eye contact.  _ Where has he been while he’s been waiting for his fiance? It’s a miracle he has evaded previous attention. _ “It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country, charmante.” 

 

An easy smile spread across John’s face as he replied “It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country, charmante.”

 

Under Theodosia’s influence, what had once seemed so terrible now seemed simple and natural. She knew that he was engaged and still she spoke so frankly. She didn’t judge him for an attraction most would say was so unnatural, and had treated it as if it was perfectly normal. And Theodosia was a grand dame, so kind, and evidently liked him lots. So it must be alright…

 

_ Stop toying with him and just finish your task, Theodosia. _ She tilted her head, and informed John “There is a ball at my house tonight, you must come!” She pulled a card with an address written on it, and offered it to John who was looking at her in slight awe.  _ Oh, his wide-open wondering eyes, what are you going to do to him Alexander? _ “You will be the prettiest there.” The thought of throwing them together had initially amused her, but now filled her with worry. But she saw no better way to keep Alexander from doing something horribly stupid then keeping an eye on them - right? “You must come.”

 

John did not miss her exact echo of Alexander’s earlier words. It only infatuated him more. What did John have to lose? He could only gain more of her friendship. 

 

“I will come.”

 

 

* * *

  
  
When Hercules Mulligan returned home, Lafayette quietly informed him of Countess Prevost’s visit. With some gentle prodding, John admitted to her invitation for that evening, but did not tell him of Alexander’s earlier one. Hercules remarked: “I don’t care to have anything to do with Prevost and don’t advise you to; however, if you’ve promised - go. It will divert your thoughts,” he added, and had looked sadly at John. 


	14. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what a week to be a comet fan! i've been listening to the art recordings for a couple days now to help distract me from july 9th, and have decided to slowly return and revise some earlier chapters with the new lyrics, and also add in blood and ashes. i do love some of the scenes that wound up getting cut, so the rest of the fic will have parts from both recordings. anyways, in this chapter we get to see an antsy alexander and a frightened john!
> 
> alternatively titled "time for bad ideas w/ the gang"

Alexander stood and waited at the door. He was patient, and politely ignored distractions that attempted to pull him away. He informed them that he was waiting for someone, and they all went off chuckling. Theodosia even tried to pull him away, warning him about a protective godfather that might foil his plans. Alexander dismissed her, and she didn’t bother keeping the frustration out of her eyes as she walked away. The ball had barely begun. So here he was, waiting at the door. Just waiting. 

 

His mind considered abandoning his post, and his heart violently objected. Alexander wasn’t very good at waiting, but if he needed to do it, he would. He could wait for boys like John. He adored little boys, they lost their heads at once. A figure caught the corner of his eye, distracting from his train of thought. There he was. Turns out Alexander didn’t have to wait very long. He went up to John and followed him.  
  
John was seized by the same feelings he had been at the opera - ones of gratified vanity at Alexander’s admiration of him and fear at the absence of a barrier between them. Alexander’s tiny whispers and moans kept on ringing in John’s ear. _There isn’t even a moral barrier between us_. John thought he heard cries of “Divine, delicious!” but was sure he was inventing them. He could not see or hear anything of what went on before him. He could only feel himself again borne away into this senseless world - so strange and remote from his old world - a world in which it was impossible for him to know good from bad. John had a moment of regret, Hercules had been right, he shouldn’t have come here. Behind him sat Alexander, and conscious of his proximity, he experienced a frightened sense of expectancy. “Alexander,” he whispered “Alexander.” The whites of John’s eyes were wide. _I’m so frightened._  
  
Alexander bravely reached out to touch John’s wrist and released a small sigh. “You are enchanting.” He promised, dark eyes giving off that comforting feeling of complete covering.   
  
Theodosia loudly proclaimed that there was a shortage of women tonight, and demanded that all the men keep dancing, even if they must do it with one another. “We can’t have you just loitering around now. You mustn't spoil the ball. Up, up!” 

 

Many of the men were reluctant about pairing up, but did not wish to cause the beautiful Theodosia unhappiness. It would have been great fun to watch and laugh at the previous bold men turn into awkward mumbling messes, but Alexander was occupied by a less self-conscious man who was without a partner. He asked John for a waltz. 

 

As they danced, Alexander made care to press John’s waist and hand. He leaned in during turns, and whispered with a hot breath about how bewitching John was. Echos of Theodosia calling John an enchanter were playing in his mind when Alexander hummed something that made John trip over his own feet for a beat.

 

“I love you.”

 

He had heard as much from Theodosia, but to hear it from Alexander’s own lips… John didn’t know what to do. He looked back with wide eyes, and parroted Alexander’s earlier words. ”Bewitching.” His mind was blank, and could no longer form primary thoughts. 

 

Alexander audibly laughed, and replied “And I love you.”  
  
And during the ecossaise, he gazed in John’s eyes. He was content with saying nothing, which was very unusual for Alexander, and just gazed into his partner’s eyes. John lifted his frightened eyes to him, but there was such confident tenderness in Alexander’s affectionate look and smile that he could not say what he had to say. He lowered his eyes in defeat. 

 

This only worried Alexander. “Don’t lower your eyes, I love you.” he promised, pressing harder into John. This was far more public than the box had been at the opera, and while there were other pairs of men dancing, John doubted that any of them were in the same position he and Alexander were in. “I am in love dear, I am in love.” Alexander said.

 

Still, John could not look at him. A mild frustration rose in Alexander, he was normally much better at this, especially with something he wanted as bad as he wanted John. “Gaze in my eyes,” he gently commanded “I love you.”  _ His freckles look so lovely in the lights _ . “You are bewitching, what can I do?” He sighed “What can I do?”

 

Alexander sounded so helpless that John almost pitied him. His mind had been buzzing with nothing but thoughts about Alexander, and here he was, dancing with him, in public, and denying him. Angelica’s face sprung to the front of John’s memory. “Don’t say such things to me, I am betrothed, I love another.” John said rapidly. Now he could not help but glance at him. 

 

Alexander was not upset or pained by what he had to say, and wore a look of odd amusement. “Don't speak to me of that,” his eyebrows pressed together, as if he was lamenting with a mournful sonet. “when I tell you I am madly, madly, in love with you!” He spread his hand possessively on John’s waist. “Is it my fault that you're enchanting?”  
  
John, animated and excited, looked about himself with wide-open frightened eyes and seemed merrier than usual. _I don’t understand anything tonight._ He continued to dance, but adamantly refused to look at Alexander. Was it possible that Alexander had read him so well and knew that Angelica was a ruse? John had to marry, that was a standard he had grown up with. Angelica was the best opportunity ever presented to him. _It isn’t like I could refuse Angelica and mary Alexander!_ The wheels in John’s head attempted to turn, but felt as if they were stuck in the mud. Tonight was so terribly confusing.   
  
The music ended, and the trance induced by the dance was put to a halt. John looked back at Alexander, who looked childishly happy. “I'm here now.” He said.  
  
John broke away, and made his way out of the ball room. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he was practically running out. John did not know Theodosia’s house, and found himself turned around and in a vacant room, perhaps the drawing room? He grabbed a chair as he tried to orient himself.   
  
` “Laurens!” Alexander was panting. Of course he had followed him. John could feel his eyes upon himself, and the feelings of suffocation crept in again, and John tried to push his way around so he could escape. Alexander blocked his path, and brought John’s face close to his own. Alexander’s large, glittering masculine eyes were so close to John’s that he saw nothing else.

 

“Is it possible that I should never see you again?” Alexander asked, sounding extremely distressed. “I love you madly! Can I never?” His eyes were so close they reflected John’s face, which visibly frightened him. This caused Alexander more concern. “Laurens?” He asked gently. 

 

He made John’s last name sound like a precious pet name. His hand moved to John’s arm, and pressed it. He moved his hands further and further down John’s arm, pressing with more intensity the duration of his movements.

  
“Laurens?” Alexander whispered inquiringly while he painfully pressed John’s hands. It took a lot to cause them pain, they were very hardy from his fondness of art.   
  


“You're hurting my hands.” John mumbled.  
  
“Laurens?” Alexander repeated.   
  
John raised his eyes to look back down at Alexander. “I don't understand.” he made his eyes say. John was scrambling for words, but the only thought he had was _I have nothing to say._  
  
Alexander threw John’s hands outwards, and used his freed arms to wrap around John’s back. He leaned up, and captured John’s frozen mouth in a kiss. John felt as if there was a crystal ringing in his head. The only thing he could feel was Alexander’s burning lips pressed to his own. He could barely realize what was happening. He trembled, causing Alexander to pull him closer and kiss him again, not recognizing that John had trembled out of fright.   
  
Out of the bliss, a single thought formed. _Angelica._ John’s guilt was incalculable. He stopped kissing Alexander back, causing the other man to pull back. His eyes seemed so soft now. All of Alexander had softened. John had been attracted to Alexander the same reason he had been drawn to Angelica; both were sharp and intelligent. But John had never seen Angelica go soft, and the more he looked at Alexander soft, he realized that he enjoyed it. _I love you._ John realized with a start. The more he thought of it, the more John was certain he had no doubt. After all, how else could all of this had happened? _How else could we have kissed?_ It meant that John had loved Alexander from the first. It meant that Alexander was kind, noble and splendid. _And I could not help loving you._  
  
“I will love you Alexander.” John promised, causing joy and life to spring forward in Alexander’s eyes. “I'll do anything for you.” he swore.   
  
Alexander’s arms returned to John, and he felt safe. Alexander gently laid his head on John’s chest, and rocked the slightest. “I'll do anything for you.” Alexander vowed, and the two embraced their loneliness in Theodosia’s drawing room. 


	15. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we get to see more of angelica, check in on poor john, and im ready for alex to take a hike
> 
> alternatively titled "GUYS BURR WROTE ALEX'S LOVE LETTERS"

In early nineteenth century Russia the main means of communication was to write letters. People found it very helpful to put down in writing what was happening in their minds. There was a very theraputic feeling associated with letter writing. Once everything was out on the paper, people found they felt better. It was like there was some kind of clarity when the letter was done and signed.   


Angelica received a letter from a worn-out looking courier after a long day of executing tactical movements and engaging in light skirmishes. She was informed that it was “all the damned way from Moscow” and Angelica wondered if her betrothed one one of her sisters had sent it. She hadn't heard from John in a couple of days, and missed the sense of familiarity his letters brought. But she also longed to check in with her sisters. It would be something short of a miracle if Peggy wrote to her, but it would be good to hear from Eliza or Maria. 

 

She broke the seal on the letter, and Eliza’s recognizable loopy cursive greeted her like a warm embrace from a long forgotten friend. Angelica propped the letter up to read while she took her hair down and changed out of her sweaty clothes.    
  


_ Dear Angelica, dear sister, how goes the war? _

 

Angelica couldn’t contain a tiny laugh. It was a war, and it went, and her sister knew this well. Angelica had complained about it enough.

  
_Do we march on the French splendidly? Do our cannons crack and cry? Do our bullets whistle and sing? Does the air reek with smoke?_

 

The way Eliza fantasized about the battle made Angelica feel far more noble for fighting than she typically did. 

  
_I wish I were there_

 

_ Well I don’t, dear sister _ . Angelica thought, shaking her head. 

  
_With death at my heels._

 

“And this is why you aren’t here _._ ” Angelica sighed, while tracing the writing with her thumb. Eliza had something of a death wish, and her newly acquired drinking habits confirmed this in Angelica’s mind. Angelica loved her sisters more than anything. She had tried and would continue to help find Maria a good husband, she had used her brain to hide Peggy with the kind troika drivers when she had expressed a desire to flee, and she would continue to protect Eliza from her self destructive habits on her worst days. Angelica had always helped her sisters before she had helped herself.   


  
_Burr is recovering_

 

Angelica did a double take, making sure she had read the sentence correctly. So the rumors were true. The famous assassin had been shot. 

_  
__He will be all right, the good man. It should have been me._

 

Burr had been shot by her sister? Her softest, kindest sister? Angelica would have been less surprised if wild Peggy had done it, or if quiet Maria had done it out of desperation. But Eliza had the best manners of all of them, never hated their father or ever spoke unkindly of her mother, even after their passing. Oh, right, Van Rensselaer was technically Eliza’s father. That made her even more dignified then. Maybe more than all of her half-sisters combined. 

  
_I am a most ridiculous woman._

 

“Well that certainly is true.” Angelica hummed to herself bitterly as she tried to paint a picture of the events that had occurred to make Eliza draw a gun at a trained assassin. She missed Moscow. She ought to go back for a while, get some leave. The war was tiring her more with each passing day.   
  
_And John is in town. I shall visit him and his godfather some time soon. I hear he is more handsome than ever. How I envy you and your happiness._  
  


Angelica had lost count of the times that she had wanted to tell Eliza about their secret. She knew her sister better than she knew herself. She would protect them and help them stay happy. But John was fearful, and rightfully so. This was something Angelica needed to hide from all of her sisters. 

  
_Here at home I drink and read and drink and read and drink. And I fill my mind with rot while my heart is empty._

 

Of course Eliza did. She had such a hard time finding value in herself. She saw how incredible and amazing others were, and assumed that she had to fall short. 

 

_ But I think I’ve finally found it, what my heart has needed. _

 

Angelica perked up. Oh this was good. Anything at the chance of bringing her happiness. 

  
_For I've been studying the Cabal, and I've calculated the number of the beast._

 

This was a familiar tirade. Angelica groaned and continued to read, even though she was well aware of what the next words would be. 

  
_It is Napoleon. I will kill him one day_

 

Eliza used to fight alongside Angelica. After the Battle of Borodino, Eliza had returned to Moscow completely alone, shut herself in at her home and dedicated herself to numerology and had determined that it was her destiny to kill Napoleon. Eliza had once revered Napoleon. What a drastic change. 

  
_He is not a great man, none of us are great men. We are just caught in the wave of history._

 

Her handwriting was growing more elongated, as it often did when she grew distressed or frustrated. 

  
_Nothing matters, everything matters. It's all the same. If only I could not see it, this dreadful, terrible it._

 

Angelica closed her eyes and folded up the letter. Eliza had changed, and it was almost as if she didn’t know what to believe in anymore. She would have to write a letter back providing some comfort. Maria would probably appreciate one as well. She looked around for her paper, and a familiar face stuck her head into Angelica’s tent.

 

“Oh Angelicaaaaa,” the brunette teased “is that a love letter?”

 

“It’s from my sister Martha!” Angelica said, putting the letter away, and embracing her fellow soldier.    
  


Martha held on to the hug. “I hadn’t seen you all day. I feared…” she trailed off, and looked at the ground in embarrassment. 

 

“It isn’t a bad thing to worry.” Angelica said warmly, and quickly looked around to make sure they weren't being watched. “And besides, you know my fiance and I have a special understanding.” She gave Martha a quick, warm kiss.

 

Martha looked at her slightly breathlessly. “Lucky me then, hu?” she said, all hit of jealousy gone and replaced with unadulterated happiness. 

 

Angelica smiled back, but still remained attentive. As much as she adored Martha, they could not be caught. She refused to ruin John. _You will wed him soon._ She reminded herself. Angelica and John had sworn to abstain until marriage to secure the public validity of their marriage. Angelica thought that she had the harder time, since both men and women caused her to turned her head. They had been so good, and so careful, and Angelica refused to be the reason that everything fell apart. But she also refused to leave Martha. So she compromised to be careful.   
  
In nineteenth century Russia, the only way to communicate over long distances was through letters. It was also more simple to put down in writing what was happening in a busy mind than to go through the verbal gymnastics of explaining.   
  
After returning home from the ball, John found himself unable to sleep all night. He was attempting to write Angelica a letter. He looked down to the paper to see what he had been able to come up with. 

 

_ Dear Angelica - _   


  
John rubbed his face in frustration. What more could he write after all that had happened? He had been tormented by the insoluble question. _What am I to do if I love her and the other one too?_ He loved Angelica. He loved her kindness, he loved her charity, and he loved her soul. She was the best friend he could ask for. But he also loved Alexander, of that there was no doubt. John couldn’t let himself mary Angelica while he still had feelings like this for Alexander. John felt as if he was deceiving Alexander somehow. But it wasn’t as if he had found a solution for the question marriage. _Must I break it off?_ He was unable to find an answer to these terrible questions.  


  
When John and Lafayette had first come to Moscow, they had practiced an old Russian tradition. One would place a candle between two mirrors, and looking into the mirror, one was supposed to be able to see their future, either in the form of a coffin or a young suitor. You were supposed to see the suitor, everyone sees a suitor. But John had seen nothing but the candle in the mirror. No visions of the future. He was so lost and alone  


  
He let his eyes wander around the room, and they fell on an opened letter. What would he do on the matter of Princess Maria? He could read her neat penmanship from where the letter lay on his bed, across the room.   
  
_Dear John, I am in deep despair at the misunderstanding there is between us. Whatever my father's feelings might be, I beg you to believe that I cannot help loving you._

 

That had given John a good fright. He prayed that she meant it in a familial way. She didn’t seem like the type to try to steal her sister’s fiance.    
  


_ He's a tired old man and must be forgiven. Please, come see us again. _   


  
John took a deep breath, and picked up a clean piece of paper to craft her a response. Surely it would be easier to reply to the sweet, timid Maria. 

 

_ Dear Princess Maria - _ __   
  


Words refused to come to him. John threw his quill aside in frustration, and pushed himself away from his desk. “Oh what am I to write!” He lamented, and feel back on his bed. How could he possibly choose, what could he do? “I shall never be happy again.” John said numbly.    


  
Eliza was haunted by her own terrible questions. Maria was so alone, trapped with Prince Reynolds, and Eliza and John were alone in their dwellings.   
  


Maria and Eliza had also tried to place a candle between two mirrors. John was not alone in his failure. Maria had hurriedly put out the candle when the only thing that was reflected was right before her own eyes, and was currently nursing the burn she had subsequently caused. Eliza hadn’t tried it for a long time. She was tired of feeling lost and alone.    


  
During the early nineteenth century, the whole world communicated in letters, not just Russia. But for those Russians putting their thoughts on paper, it would feel like they were the whole world.   


  
Earlier that day, Alexander had decided to write a letter for his dear Laurens. With trembling hands, John held it. A letter from him, from the man that he loved. What John did not know was that it was a letter which was composed by one Aaron Burr. He hurried to break the seal. In his hands, John held a love letter. Of all things, a love letter. From another man.   


  
_Laurens, Laurens, Laurens,_

 

John loved the way Alexander curved his L’s. They were soft and dramatic, and the thought that Alexander had made each one with care took John’s breath away. 

 

_ Since yesterday evening my fate has been sealed; I must love you or die. There is no other way for me. Laurens, Laurens, Laurens, I do not care what any others might say, if you love me say yes and I will come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark. No human power could hinder our bliss. Laurens, Laurens, Laurens, I want nothing more. _

 

His hand was trembling, and John had to put the letter down for a moment so he could steady his breath. It was incredible reading the letter, for John had found an echo of every emotion he was feeling. 

  
_Laurens, Laurens, Laurens, I must be loved by you or die._

 

John noticed the slight changes. Alexander repeated himself for emphasis, but changed the wording to know that John understood he was sincere. (Well, Burr did that for Alexander) 

  
_Laurens, Laurens, Laurens, if you love me say yes and I will come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark and carry you off to the ends of the earth where we can be free and happy. Laurens, Laurens, Laurens, I want nothing more. Love will conquer all._  
  
John’s mind was whirling a thousand miles an hour. Did Alexander have some sort of secret way he could find someplace safe for them? He had proposed marriage! To John, who was a man. _He must have a way, he’s so intelligent he must know a way to bend the world to his will._ John’s gaze fell to the last lines of the letter.

__

_ Just say yes. Just say yes. Just say yes _

 

His heart swelled when he looked at the signature. 

 

_ Love, Alexander _

 

Yes, yes, John loved him, or how else could he have Alexander’s letter in his hand?   
John read it twenty times, thirty times, forty times, each and every word.   
  


John could not focus on his letters for the rest of the night, so he decided to practice his sketching. The last few days had been quite eventful, and John found it easy to draw inspiration from them. The doors to the entrance of the opera house, Theodosia’s cunning eyes, Maria’s plain dress and the curve of Alexander’s smile all found their way on to the page. It was late. Rubbing his eyes, John read Alexander’s letter one last time while draped across his sofa. 

 

His eyelids fluttered shut, and a singular thought was caught in John’s mind as he fell asleep.  _ I love him, I love him. _ __   
  


Lafayette had returned late in the evening, and went to John’s room to wish him goodnight. Much to Lafayette’s surprise he found his cousin still dressed and sleeping on the sofa in the most awkward position. There was an open letter lying on his chest, and curiosity got the better of Lafayette. He picked it up and read it.    
  
  
  



	16. Sonya & Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lafayette confronts john with his worry, and john does not take it well
> 
> alternatively titled "wise lafayette and blind john"

As Lafayette read, he glanced at the sleeping John, trying to find in his face an explanation for what he was reading, but could not find it. His cousin’s face was calm, gentle and happy. He felt horrible. It all was so plain now. How was it that Lafayette noticed nothing? He felt as if he should have picked something about John’s now obvious preference up when they were children. Lafayette had had his suspicions, but knew it would have been dangerous to speak of them. How could it go so far? It can't be that he loves him. It’s all too fast. It can't be. “John.” Lafayette choked softly. 

 

John awoke to see Lafayette, and joy spread across his face. 

 

“Lafayette, you're back!” And with the tender resolve that often came at the moment of awakening, he embraced his friend, but noticing Lafayette’s look of embarrassment, his own face expressed confusion and suspicion. “Lafayette, you've read the letter?” John demanded. 

 

“Yes,” answered Lafayette softly. He was clearly only disappointed with himself, and waited for John’s passion to explode on him. 

 

But to his surprise, his cousin smiled with rapture. “Oh Lafayette, I'm glad, I can't hide it any longer!” John grabbed his shoulders and squeezed them with excitement, a good portion of it coming from Lafayette not accusing him of being a sinner right away. “Now you know, we love one another! Lafayette, he writes,” he released his shoulders and John pulled his hand to his chest “he writes, he writes, he writes, he writes…” John’s voice was hazy with elation.

 

Lafayette stared at John, wide eyed, and refused to believe his ears. “And Angelica?” he asked expectantly. 

 

“Oh Lafayette, if you only knew how happy I am!” John cried, “You don't know what love is.”

 

Lafayette chose to ignore the unintentional dig at his and Adrienne’s relationship, for what he considered a more worrisome matter. “But John, can that all be over?” Lafayette was not bothered by John’s preference in men. Other aristocrats had done it in the past, and gotten away with it. Lafayette was worried about John liking Hamilton. And he was worried that John had decided that liking Hamilton was more important than following through on a vow. Hamilton had promised to elope with John, and they’d both be sent to Siberia or hung if they were caught. 

 

John tilted his head in confusion and said “I do not grasp the question.”

 

Lafayette sighed. “Well, then let me say it plainly. Are you refusing Princess Angelica?”

 

“Oh, you don't understand anything!” John complained. “Don't talk nonsense, just listen.”

 

“But I can't believe it,” insisted Lafayette “I don't understand. How you loved one woman a whole year and suddenly -” a thought popped into Lafayette’s mind, causing him to break off. What if John had never loved Angelica, and it had been an act? But that didn’t make any sense, John was too naturally kind to hurt a woman as wonderful as Angelica like that. Another, more pressing thought bothered Lafayette “You've only known him three days, John, you're joking!” All it took was three days to destroy any normalcy they’d had before?

 

John stared off dreamily as he rose to his feet. “Three days?” he said “It seems to me I've loved him a hundred years. It seems to me that I've never loved anyone before.”  _ Lafayette couldn’t possibly understand it. _ John gently took his cousin’s hands and pulled him to sit on the perfectly made bed with him. “Lafayette, wait a bit, sit here.”

 

“I had heard that it happens like this, and you must have heard it too.” John mused, attempting to calm Lafayette’s shock with his soft tone and rubbing Lafayette’s long bony hands with his own peculiarly calloused ones. “But it's only now that I feel such love. It's not the same as before.”

 

Lafayette still looked terribly perplexed and opened his mouth to voice more confusion. John, in an attempt to make Lafayette understand him, blurted out before Lafayette could speak with unneeded force  “He's my master and I am his slave! What can I do? Lafayette, what can I do?” cried John with a happy yet frightened expression. He was genuinely happy, but subconsciously afraid of the price of his happiness. “Why can't you understand? I love him!”

 

John by no means was a master wordsmith, which left room for misinterpretation on Lafayette’s side. The master and slave comment in addition to John’s mild fear made Lafayette very worried. He was afraid that John felt trapped by this Hamilton and didn’t know how to escape. “Then.... then I won’t let it come to that,” Lafayette stuttered in shock, before taking a deep breath and proclaiming “I shall tell!” John’s horrified look threw Lafayette off, and he burst into tears when he realized that he had only made things worse. 

 

“What do you mean? For God's sake… if you tell, you are my enemy!” declared John, dropping his hands in disgust and looking at Lafayette with unprecedented venom in his eyes “You want me to be miserable, you want to tear us apart.” John had thought Lafayette would be the most understanding. He was certain that good, kind Lafayette would keep his secret better than anyone else. He had assumed Lafayette would be quick to understand his and Angelica’s arrangement. Clearly, John had been wrong. “For God's sake, Lafayette, don't tell anyone, don't torture me,” John said, and for good measure and guilt added “I have confided in you.”

 

When Lafayette saw John’s fright directed at him, he shed tears of shame and pity for his friend “What has happened between you?” he asked “What has he said to you?” Lafayette recollected a letter that Adrienne had written to him about one of the soldiers she was working with to come up with new training exercises and had shared a tent with. He was wealthy, and had been able to use money to get around the laws set by Peter the Great since his lover was a civilian and their acts technically weren't illegal. They shared a bachelor pad, and kept their love life very private. Adrienne had found the whole situation very humorous, especially considering that the soldier had been a large hypermasculine type and his lover was a thin, French boy. Lafayette had laughed at the time, but now that story was causing him to question Hamilton’s motives. “Why doesn't he come to the house and ask for you to live with him? Why this secrecy? Have you thought what his secret reasons may be?”

 

“I don't know what the reasons are but there must be reasons!” John said, and defiantly held his chin high. This was the first time that he had this question presented to his mind, and while he did not know how to answer it, John pictured Alexander’s confident, dark eyes and found himself more sure of his decision to run away with him.  “Lafayette, one can't doubt him! One can't, one can't! Don't you understand?”

 

Lafayette looked sadly at John, took a deep, shaky breath, and very quietly asked “Does he love you?”

 

John reeled back slightly out of shock “Does he love me?” he echoed, and then laughed nervously. “Why, you've read his letter, you've seen him, I can't live without him.”

 

“John, think of your family and think of Princess Angelica.” Lafayette pleaded.

 

“Angelica said I was free to refuse her.” John reminded Lafayette. He just wanted to end this conversation.

 

Lafayette sighed sorrowfully and spoke slowly “But you haven't refused her -” something in John’s eyes made him stumble over his words as panic set itself in Lafayette’s mind and his voice rose an octave “or have you?”

 

John tried to appear casual as he shrugged, but miserably failed “Perhaps I have.” He said plainly “Perhaps all is over between me and Schuyler. Would you think so badly of me?” John truly did not think badly of anyone. He found it easy to love and pity everybody no matter what. He was perplexed when people were able to do so easily, and feared Lafayette might with him because of this affair.  _ But what am I to do? _

 

Lafayette did not succumb to the tender tone John used toward him. The more emotional and integrating the expression of John’s face became, the more serious and stern Lafayette’s grew. “I don't trust him, John! Why this secrecy?” he looked for some sort of closure in John’s eyes, his posture, his smile, but could find none. “I’m afraid for you, John!”

 

“Afraid of what?” interrupted John, scrunching his nose. 

 

“Afraid you are going to your ruin!” said Lafayette resolutely, and was horrified himself at what he had just said.

 

Anger again flashed across John’s face. “Then I'll go to my ruin,” he proclaimed, and furrowed his brows “yes I will, as soon as possible!” He pushed himself off the bed, and backpedaled while he thought until he was leaning against the dresser for support. “But it's not your business, it won't be you, it'll be me, who'll suffer.” John added. “Leave me alone, yes leave me alone!” 

 

Angelica’s portrait was in the corner of John’s eyes, so he slammed it face down so he didn’t have to look at it. This caused Lafayette to gasp and instinctively step forward to fix the mess. He was met with distrust and boiled over rage.

 

“I hate you Lafayette! I hate you Lafayette!” John said, putting more and more distance between his cousin and himself. His mind was clouded with the giant mistake he had just made, for surly Lafayette was going to expose him and John would be a dead man “I hate you, I hate you! You're my enemy forever!” 

 

Lafayette burst into sobs and collapsed while John ran out of the room. Lafayette stayed on the floor, paralyzed. It felt as if he was being consumed by flames. 

 

John retreated to a private study, and without a moment's reflection wrote the answer to Princess Maria which he’d been unable to write all morning. He made sure to keep the letter brief. At this moment it all seemed quite easy, simple and clear to John. 

  
_ All our misunderstandings are at an end. Forget everything and forgive me, but I can't be Angelica’s husband. _


	17. Sonya Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have a lot of feelings about sonya and lafayette and i really think they should have 24/7 protection while they share their wisdom with us
> 
> alternatively titled "i would trust both sonya and lafayette with my life sorry not sorry"

 

Hard as it was for Lafayette in the coming days, he watched his friend in his strange unnatural state, and did not let him out of his sight. But nothing seemed to develop. Lafayette let the fight fall from his thoughts when a letter arrived stating come that Angelica had arranged a visit home, and would be here soon. The day before she was to return, Lafayette noticed that John was sitting in the drawing room window all morning as if he were expecting something. He made an odd sign to an officer who drove past.

 

_ This must be Hamilton _ . Lafayette thought to himself, and vowed to watch his cousin still more attentively.  John was in an odd place by dinner time. He answered questions at random, began sentences he would not finish, stare at nothing and laughed at random.

 

After evening tea Lafayette noticed the housemaid whom John was closest with, who was easily identifiable by the dark curls tousled on the top of her head, standing outside of John’s door timidly waiting for Lafayette to allow her to pass. He stepped back and let the girl go in, and then listened at the door. 

 

“Count Laurens, there’s another letter her for you,” she said softly and politely.

 

Lafayette could tell that John had raced to the door by the speed of his footsteps. “Really?” the muffled sound of papers ruffling was all that filled the air. Shaky breathing. And suddenly, a soft thud and “Oh, thank you Ana.” 

 

_ He’s hugging her, _ Lafayette pondered as he moved away from the door to appear more casual in the hallway, _ for a very long time.  _ He tried to figure out what was going on. Angelica was coming home, so she wouldn’t be sending another letter. That dreadful Hamilton had been lurking around the house too, which was particularly odd considering that Angelica was returning and…  _ Oh. _ John really had refused Angelica then. And he was taking Hamilton up on his offer to elope.  _ But where will they go? He can’t do this!  _ Lafayette tried his best to calmly knock on John’s door. 

 

John slowly opened his door. “Hello, Lafayette. Can I help you?” His voice was so small and he had a bittersweet, sad look on his face. His eyes were puffy as if he had been crying. But he did not let his cousin in. 

 

Lafayette felt a horrible pain in his chest. “Oh, just wanted to wish you goodnight, cousin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Goodnight.” John softly echoed and quickly shut the door. 

 

_ There is a dreadful plan in his heart. _ Lafayette smiled softly, and had to walk to his room with a hand on the wall so he did not fall over on the spot. He made it a handful of steps in his room before he collapsed into his soft lilac chair. Lafayette ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. He needed to talk himself through this one.  _ Okay Lafayette, start with what you know. _ “John is capable of anything.” He knew John so well, he had to carefully examine everything that had happened. John had spent a long time today with the servant he was closest with. “He might just run away.” Lafayette was numb to how horrified he sounded. Slowly, he dipped his foot to the floor to feel for the blanket he always left there. He grabbed it with his two biggest toes, and pulled the blanket up to his hands and covered himself with it as he tried to get his brain working so he could problem solve. 

 

“Yes, this is it, he means to elope. What am I to do?” he recalled all the signs that clearly indicated that John had some terrible intention that he had not disclosed with Lafayette, and he felt rather ill. He had to compartmentalize. “Who do I ask for help?” Angelica.  _ She is away, and will not arrive in time to be much of assistance. _ Hamilton, demanding an explanation.  _ But what is there to hold him to reply? _ Eliza, asking her aid as a sister to the bride.  _ But perhaps John had already refused Angelica, he had sent the letter to Princess Maria yesterday.  _ Lafayette had run nearly to the end of his list. “Is it all on me?” he wondered. He could tell Hercules Mulligan. But he had such faith in John, that Lafayette found that option too terrible and unfair. If it was life or death, Lafayette could reach out to Henry Laurens, John’s father, and beg of him… No, Lafayette shuddered at the thought. He would be infuriated. And Lafayette did not want to deal with that kind of uncontrolled rage. Which left him with one option. “Is it all on me?”

 

Lafayette forced himself up out of the chair, and let the blanket fall to the floor. He had a choice, but not really. He walked with confidence he had not possessed previously, and quietly left his room and entered the near black hall. _ I will stand in the dark for you.  _ Putting one bare foot in front of the other, Lafayette slowly walked back to John’s room. The servant, Ana, was quietly leaving his room and raced down the staircase with urgency.  _ I will hold you back by force.  _ He looked at the lean, light brown door. It would likely break with too much pressure. Best to just observe now.  _ I will stand here right outside your door. _ Lafayette would stay until the threat of Hamilton had left John’s life.  _ I won’t see you disgraced. _ John was young, he was naive and most importantly, he was kind. Lafayette knew that John did not realize the full extent of what he was getting himself into. He deserved better than a life of hiding and running, which was all Hamilton would ever be able to provide him with.  _ I will protect your name and your heart. _ Lafayette could picture John lying in his great bed, hair in a loose ponytail, and reflected on his selfish motivations. Yes, he wanted to protect John from himself and help him stay happy. But Lafayette had his own gain from all of this. He would keep John in his life. Why was he doing all of this?  _ Because I miss my friend. _

 

Reflecting the past days, Lafayette supposed he should have seen something like this coming. He knew John had been forgetting him. But he only knew that because he knew his friend so well. And Lafayette knew John was capable of anything, including throwing himself over and running away with Hamilton. But Lafayette refused to let him. “I won’t let you.” he mumbled, and for the second time used the wall for support. He didn’t feel bad for dirtying the walls like he normally would. This was all on him, and Lafayette needed all the support he could get. How ironic it was that they now spent these small hours of the night in isolation. John was isolated because he refused to turn to anyone, but Lafayette was alone for he had no one to turn to. 

 

When Lafayette’s father had died and mother followed in suit, John’s family took him in. Henry Laurens only took him in to replace the son he had lost, but Lafayette remembered Eleanor, who had been a better mother to him than he ever could have possibly asked for. He remembered Harry, Martha and Mary, who had been better siblings than he could have ever asked for. And John. John had greeted him with such kindness, and had opened his entire heart to Lafayette. While Eleanor was alive, she made sure that Lafayette was treated as their equal, and John continued her work when she passed. Martha was the only reason he was introduced to Adrienne, and Mary was the one who had pushed him to ask for her hand. _ It’s now or never, _ John decided,  _ I must prove that I remember the family’s goodness to me and that their love has not gone to waste. _ He didn’t care if he ever slept again. He would stand in the dark, not leave this passage and would hold John back. _ I will not let John or his family be disgraced. I will protect them all.  _

  
“Do you know why?” Lafayette whispered with delicacy to the door. “Because I miss you, my friend.”


	18. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of exposition and burr is unsurprisingly the most rational person in the room 
> 
> alternatively titled "even more bad ideas with less of the gang"

Eliza was wandering the streets of Moscow in the midst of a pleasant buzz. Angelica would be here by tomorrow and Eliza didn’t want to have to greet her totally hungover, so she had restricted herself to just wine tonight. A familiar short figure passed her in a hurry. Eliza felt a happy warmth fill her when she realized who it was.    


  
“Ah, Alexander!” Eliza smiled brightly, but realized how anxious Alexander looked. “Where are you off too?” she asked softly.  


  
Alexander tried to relax his face a bit and greeted her “Eliza, good woman, tonight I go away, on an adventure. You'll not be seeing me for some time.” he confessed, added said with a pleased smirk, “I've found a new pleasure and I'm taking him away. I'll send you a letter from Poland.”  


  
Eliza couldn’t contain the brash laugh that escaped her “Ha! An elopement! Fool, you are married already!” She didn’t doubt for a single moment that if any man could find a way to marry his gender, it would be Alexander. But one cannot marry anybody, regardless of gender, if they are already committed to another.   


  
Her reminder struck an unhappy chord in Alexander, and he dismissed the thought with a too-casual wave of his hand “Don't talk to me of that!” he grumbled “I will not deprive myself of this one! Tonight! I take him tonight!” he grabbed Eliza’s shoulder in parting, and jokingly asked, “Lend me fifty rubles?” before he disappeared down the street.   


  
Eliza watched him go, and sighed to herself. _Ah, that's a true sage, living in the moment._ What she wouldn’t give to be like him. Eliza picked up her dress and pulled her coat a little tighter as she walked home. The stars were out tonight, and made the walk more pleasant than it normally was. Unknown to her, Alexander had been in a rush so he could meet with Burr and execute their plan.   


  
Alexander had lately moved to Burr’s house to scheme in privacy. The plan for John Lauren’s abduction had all been arranged and the preparations made. On the day that Lafayette had listened and John’s door and decided to save him, that was the day that the game was to be played. John had promised to be on his back porch at ten. This is where Alexander and his troika would scoop him up and then they'd ride forty miles to the village of Kamenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to wed them. Then back into the troika off they'd go and take the Poland highroad to the wedding bed.  


  
While he walked to the room, Alexander made a mental checklist. _Passports._ There were the small stack of papers on a table next to his bed. _Horses_. The stable had been used for the first time in many decades, and Burr had already arranged for the priest to obtain horses of equal quality so they could have fresh ones at the ceremony. _Ten thousand rubles I have taken from dear Theodosia and another ten thousand raised with Burr’s help_. A rather obscene pile of cash was just beyond the door in front of him. Alexander pushed it open, and joined the other three men in the study.   


  
They were gathered in Burr’s handsome study drinking up some tea. The assassin looked up from the money he was sorting and made sure that the servants had left. He was fond of them, but didn’t want to risk Alexander’s safety. He exhaled slowly to calm himself. _Just Alexander, the two wedding witnesses, and me_. The two witnesses were William P. Van Ness, a retired petty official whom Burr had made use of in his gambling transactions, and Nathaniel Pendleton was a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fellow who had an unbounded affection for Alexander. Burr, dressed in a traveling cloak and high boots, was sitting by the large desk where abacus and paper money were strewn. The walls were hung to the ceiling with persian rugs and bearskins which hung grotesque. Anatole was walking with his uniform unbuttoned, walking to and fro. 

 

To and fro to the witnesses, to and fro to his French valet, to and fro to Burr’s servants that were packing the last of his things, and to and fro back to Burr. Alexander turned to walk more, but Burr pushed himself up from his notes and the money, causing the pacing man to jump and look over at his friend. 

  
  
“Now wait!” Burr exclaimed nervously. “You better, just, give it up now.” he made a comical awkward face that caused Alexander to make a confused one back at him. “Why dontcha, while there's still time! You'd really better drop it all, give it up now!” _Hell must have frozen over if I’m trying to act as his voice of reason._ “While there's still time!” Burr made a halfhearted shrug and incomprehensible hand gesture. “Do you know - ”

  
  
“What, teasing again?” Alexander looked extremely uncomfortable as he cut Burr off. “Fool don't talk nonsense! Go to the devil! Eh?” Alexander threw himself dramatically on the sofa, and made a big show of rolling his eyes at Burr. “Really, this is no time for your stupid jokes.”

  
  
Burr turned pale, and tried to calmly push the chair to the desk while he spoke tensely through his teeth “I am not joking, I am talking sense, this is serious business, a dangerous business.” Alexander waved his hand to dismiss him. This prompted Burr to step across the room, and pull him up to his feet by his uniform lapels. “Come here, come here, come here Alexander!” Alexander looked at Burr with wide, frightened eyes, and Burr dropped him quickly with exasperation. “Why would I joke about it?” he asked softly as he placed a gentle hand on Alexander’s neck. “Me of all people. Who found the priest, raised the money, got the passports, got the horses?” Burr looked deep into Alexander’s eyes, searching for what was motivating his friend to act so rashly.  
  
“And well I thank you for it.” Alexander said with a fond sigh and pulled Burr into an embrace. He held on tighter as he asked in a small voice “Do you think I am not grateful?”

 

_ I will never understand you _ Burr thought as he carefully pushed Alexander away and tried to talk some sense into him. “And now you'll carry him away but will they let it stop there? You haven't thought this through or do you just don't care?” Burr held his chin up and narrow his gaze while he spoke with determination. “Now listen to me tell it to you one last time, they will take you to the court and convict you for your crime. Already married and you're playing with a little boy,” Alexander was acting like he had everything to prove and nothing to lose, and his ignorance of the consequences of his actions caused Burr to plead with him, if for no other reason, the safety of those he could potentially harm, “don't you know, don't you think, don't you know?”

 

Alexander screwed up his face and shook his head violently. “Nonsense, nonsense!” He somehow scowled and grimaced at the same time. “Didn't I explain it to you, didn't I, what?”

 

Burr rolled his eyes and watched his passionate friend.  _ And here Alexander, with the stubborn attachment small-minded people have for conclusions they've worked out for themselves, will repeat his argument to me for the hundredth time. _   


  
“Didn’t I explain to you that that I have come to this conclusion?” Alexander asked, before jumping into his rhetoric without giving Burr the chance to confirm, that yes indeed he had told him. “If this marriage isn't valid then I'm off the hook. But if it is valid,” he continued, crooking one finger, “it really doesn't matter! No one abroad is gonna know a thing about it, isn't that so now don't you know? Don't talk to me, don't don't what what?” Alexander really looked at Burr for the first time since he’d come in the room, and saw disappointment and worry plain on his face. “Ah go to hell now!” cried Alexander, and clutching his hair, left the room. 

 

Burr arched an eyebrow and rose to wait patiently.  _ Too messy for him, he’ll be back any moment. _ Alexander returned to the room almost at once and dropped into the armchair in front of Burr and tucked his feet under the loose cushion. “It’s the very devil!” he lamented, and scowled at the underwhelmed look Burr gave him. “Here, feel how it beats!” Alexander took Burr’s hand and placed it on his heart.

 

Alexander’s heart sounded like it was trying to escape his ribcage. Burr soothingly pressed his fingers lightly into Alexander’s chest, a trick he had learned from Theodosia that nearly always worked to calm down their hot headed friend. It worked like a charm, and Alexander’s fiery eyes subdued.   
  
“Ah mon cher, mon cher,” hu hummed, looking over Burr’s shoulder. It was so easy to picture John sitting in the room with them, happy face filled with freckles and a warm smile. Burr followed his gaze to an empty corner. “Quel pied, quel regard! What a foot he has, what a glance! A god!”  
  


It didn’t take Burr any time to figure out that Alexander was talking to a fictitious John. He was a romantic, he got like that sometimes. It was humorous, but also a sure sign of Burr’s failure. _Well, you tried Aaron._ He looked back and watched Alexander’s lips mutter something tender to himself.   
  
A servant entered the room with the passports in his hand, and Alexander jumped up in excitement. “It's time! It's time!” he exclaimed, and turned to Burr, Van Ness and Pendleton with a childish smile. “Now then! Nearly ready? You're dawdling!” He grabbed a good portion of the cash on the table, and Burr made sure to grab the rest. “The driver is here, the driver is here.” he muttered in anticipation as he waited at the door for his friends. “Peggy is here!”


	19. Balaga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really love balaga and peggy so i just sort of went to town and dragged this chapter out a bit but hey! they deserve more attention. 
> 
> alterantivly titled "peggy is always better than everyone"

A woman clad in a oversized fur coat, a yellow linen shirt and scandalously tight breeches stood next to the three dark horses that pulled her troika. Her curly hair was parted in the middle, and she let several ringlets fall by her ears. It was rather unusual to see an effortless blend of masculine and feminine fashion. She had not been so well dressed the last time Alexander had seen her, and had his French valet not informed him of her arrival, he wasn’t sure he would have recognized her immediately. 

 

“Hey Peggy!” Alexander called out in his typical greeting. “Ho Peggy!”

 

“Hey hey ho Peggy!” Burr added and a mischievous catlike grin set upon his face that had previously taken a prolonged absence. 

 

A short servant with wide eyes was loading the small bags on to the troika, and “Hey hey Peggy.” she said with a small voice. Peggy winked and playfully smacked her backside, causing the servant to blush.

 

Peggy pulled herself to her full height, which wasn’t much, and took a dramatic bow. “Your’s truly!”

 

Peggy was a famous troika drive who had known Burr and Alexander for around six years, and had given them good service with her troikas. Her customers weren’t aware of it, but she was the second youngest daughter of Prince Reynolds. Princess Angelica had helped her escape the house, change her name from Margarita to Peggy, and set her up with a group of friendly, safe troika drivers to live out her craziest ambitions. They were lead by level-headed John, shady Bradstreet and calm Cornelia. Peggy had only been working with them for two years when Cornelia died in a crash, and since Peggy was the only other women who had substantial experience, she had risen to be one of the leaders of their company. Peggy had always been wild, and her fearlessness attracted more young drivers to work for them. 

 

Her reputation made her popular, and the entire house was up with whispers of her name. 

 

William P. Van Ness had just made final arrangements with Burr, and whistled under his breath “Ho Peggy.” and turned back to his fellow wedding witness.

 

Nathaniel Pendleton, whom had just left the house and was always last to find out news, scrunched up his nose at all the excitement. “Who’s Peggy?” he asked in confusion. 

 

He received a funny side eye from the servant that had previously greeted Peggy. “The famous troika driver.” she said.

 

“Who's that madwoman flying at full gallop down the street?” Peggy asked, putting her hand on her brow and feigned looking off into the distance. “Who's that madwoman knocking people over, running people down,” she turned back to Alexander and Burr and made a grand theatrical gesture and finished in a tone faking grandeur, “while her fine gentlemen hold onto their seats?”

 

Alexander laughed “It's Peggy!”

 

“Driving mad at twelve miles an hour.” Peggy checked her chin up with an air of cockiness. 

 

Burr clasped her shoulder, and felt that somehow the presence of Peggy was rewinding all the years of aging Alexander had just forced him to undergo through pure stress “Peggy!”

 

Peggy made a half jump forward, and pointed playfully “Comin' straight at you!” She waved her hands dramatically above her head. “Get out my way, get out my way!”

 

“Peggy!” Alexander and Burr cheered at the same time. 

 

“Lashin' my whip at horses and peasants!” Peggy sneered, and jutted out her hip to show off her fancy dark leather whip. 

 

Burr’s “Peggy!” came out in an almost scolding tone as he shot her a look of disapproval. 

 

Peggy raised her eyebrow. “Hey, I’m risking skin and life twenty times a year for my fine, fine, gentlemen.” Burr sighed, but didn’t push her off when Peggy slung her arms over their shoulders and forced them into a group hug. “Yessir hey ho yessir,” she said with a grave look that caused Alexander to break into giggles, “yessir yessir yessir.”

 

With others, Peggy would bargain and charge twenty five rubles for a two hour drive, and then send out the boys that worked under her to drive. But with her “fine gentlemen”, she would drop whatever she was doing to drive them, and never demanded anything for her work. Alexander and Burr liked Peggy for her masterly driving, and because she liked the things they liked. The unfortunate similarities the three of them shared lead to a handful of unforgettable nights, and Alexander could always prod Peggy to recount them with three words. “More than once!”

 

“From Tula to Moscow and back in just one night!” Peggy always started with the duller runs. Alexander used to be stationed in Tula, back when he had been a military man and had a more obvious death wish. On his worse days, Peggy would pick him up, take him to Moscow by daybreak, and have him back at Tula by nightfall. It was an incredible feat, but those trips were always boring. 

 

Alexander was never one to settle for boring. “More than once!” He challenged again. 

 

Peggy hesitated for a moment, but pulled in Alexander tight and declared, “A narrow escape from a wild Cossack fight!” That one had been Burr’s fault. The Cossacks they had fought were siding with the Russian monarchy, and it had boiled down to a simple mistranslation. It would have ended in their deaths, without Peggy’s quick thinking.

 

“More than once!” Burr was eager to switch topics. 

 

“They've beaten me and slapped me with their gloves.” Peggy teased, releasing her friends and allowed them to climb into her troika. 

 

Alexander and Burr shared a guilty look, and admitted, “More than once!”

 

Peggy waved away their tense looks, making it known they hadn't ever offended her by doing so. “Made me drunk on champagne, which I love!” She reminisced, while miming popping off a cork. 

 

“Hey Peggy!” One of Burr’s footmen had something for Peggy to secure near the front of the troika. She took it, and tied it down with expertise. Her name was called a dozen more times, and she directed the traffic flawlessly, and managed to get everything looking meticulously arranged. Her face lit up when the servant from earlier approached with some Tula gingerbread cookies tied off in a napkin. She presented it to the troika driver, who took them graciously.

 

“Hey hey Peggy.” The servant tucked her dark hair behind her ear, and ran off. 

 

“Who’s that one Burr, she’s rather adorable?” Peggy asked, watching her retreat to the house. 

 

Burr looked up from where he was securing a small bag, and quickly shook his head. “Ah, no, Peggy. I am done with you stealing my servants. Last year it was… Who was it Alexander?”

 

“Eaker.”

 

“Yes, last year it was Eaker, and I happen to like Bettiol so you will not be whisking her away as well.” Burr crossed his arms, and tried to look angry at the laughing Peggy. It wasn’t an easy task, and he quickly failed it. 

 

“I can’t help it, Burr. You keep a very attractive staff. What’s a girl to do?” She batted her eyelashes ridiculously. Peggy was guilty of kidnapping several of Burr’s staff to come work with her in the troikas. But she always kept tabs on them, even after their flings ended, and everyone whom she had managed to convince to change lifestyles was thriving in their small family. Peggy would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little proud. 

 

Burr groaned, and shook his head while he rested his forearms on his knees. “The famous troika driver.” he grumbled. 

 

Peggy cracked her whip, and the horses bolted. The famous troika driver and her fine gentlemen were off to stage an abduction. Cries of “Hey!” and “Ho!” could be heard all around Burr’s residence. 

 

Alexander leaned back comfortably in the troika, and cupped his mouth around his hand to shout so Peggy could hear him ask “Who's that slowpoke we abuse with wild and tipsy shouts?”

 

She looked over her shoulder with a mildly judgmental eyebrow cocked, and bantered back with ease. “Who knows things that would get you sent straight to Siberia if anyone found out?” It was an empty threat, but still a very valid one. However, if Peggy exposed Alexander, she’d be sent off with him. They balanced one another in their levels of sin. Alexander had always said he was attracted to both sexes, and Peggy argued that she didn’t see sex as a reason to be attracted to someone so much as who they were. Burr, on the other hand, was horribly boring and only gave women the time of day. At least, that’s what he claimed. Peggy had her doubts. But that would get her sent to Siberia. 

 

“It's Peggy!” Alexander called, high off the adrenaline that was coursing in his veins. 

 

Peggy cracked her whip, and forced the horses to go faster. “Driving mad at twelve miles an hour!” She said. 

 

Burr tucked his chin in his fur coat, and hollered out “Peggy!”

 

A man was walking, hunched over, in the middle of the road. He didn’t show any intention of moving, so Peggy hollered out at the top of her lungs “Comin' straight at you!” He still did not move, so she cracked her whip in the air to get his attention, and said “Get out my way, get out my way!”

 

The man pulled himself to the side of the road, looked at the troika with much confusion, before scowling, and shaking his fist at the drive, said “Peggy!”

 

They drove past an abandoned opening in a cherry orchard, and Peggy reminisced of a night they had previously spent there with some company. “Drinking and dancing with my Ruska Roma!” She said, wistfully stretching her arm out in the general direction. 

 

Burr was not impressed, and scolded her. “Peggy!” He was more embarrassed by that memory. They had summoned Peggy to take them to an orgy, and wound up making her drink and dance with them that night. Peggy had taken to their lifestyle very rapidly, and Alexander had to practically drag her away that night. Burr had often wondered since then how different her life might have been had her sister not secured her safety while helping her escape. Peggy certainly had the right spirit to fit in with the Ruska Roma. 

 

The horse of the far left stumbled, and Peggy swore and whipped it harder. In Alexander an Burr’s service, she had lost more horses than the money she had ever received from them would buy, but it never truly bothered her. “Riding my horses into the ground.” She threw in some creative curse words, before tossing her friends an easy smile. “For my fine fine gentlemen. Yessir hey ho yessir,” she looked back forward and shook her head fondly and finished, “yessir yessir yessir!”

 

“More than once!” Burr seemed ready to distract her, and told Peggy the three magic words. 

 

“Driven you round with ladies on your laps.” Peggy fired back with ease. They would pick up nomads and ladykins and Peggy would politely call them cocottes and take them where they pleased. 

 

Alexander was never satisfied, and demanded more. “More than once!”

 

Peggy had been instrumental on many of Burr’s escapes, and knew how to lay low when any of them got in trouble. “Taken you places not on any maps!”

 

Burr laughed cynically “More than once!” He didn’t mean it as a challenge; Peggy had enabled Burr to escape more times than he could count on his two hands. 

 

Peggy took his laugh as a dare, but was more focused on the road as they came into the city than she was with refining her storytelling abilities. “Galloped faster than ordinary men would dare.”

 

“More than once!” Alexander urged her on, always excited to distract the driver. 

 

The horse that had stumbled earlier pulled away from the other towards a pile of snow, hoping Peggy would pull the troika to a stop. Peggy grit her teeth, mumbled for her riders to hold on, and whipped the other two to go faster. The horses ran over the snow pile, and the troika went airborne. They landed roughly on the other side, and Peggy cackled with a hint of mania “Jumped my troika right into the air!” Burr looked at Peggy like she was crazy, and Alexander just shook his head. Peggy did shit like that all the time simply because she enjoyed the rush it gave her. It wasn’t like they paid her to nearly kill them. 

 

Maybe once a year, would Peggy ever ask for any rubles. She would always appear during an early morning, unsummoned and extremely sober, with her head bowed. She would ask them for help, and her fine gentlemen would always take her in and ask exactly what was ailing her. She didn’t work for them for rubles. She did it because she liked them. And they liked Peggy too. 

 

They made their way into town, where they were to stop to celebrate Alexander’s wedding. It was the closest thing to a bachelor party he was getting. The buildings began to look familiar, and Alexander spotted the club. “Whoa!” he called, pointing ahead down the street. 

  
Peggy slowly eased the horses, and said “Whoa…” and pulled them to a stop right outside the club. Alexander hopped out with lithe and energy, and Burr pulled himself out a touch more frazzled. Peggy dismissed herself to deal with the troubled horse while Alexander and Burr entered the warm, inviting building. 


	20. The Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hit some writer's block, but i think the worst is behind me. now it's time for everything to fall apart in nineteenth century russia. 
> 
> alternatively titled "bad execution fam"

Cheers rose up through the smoke-filled lounge when Alexander and Burr entered. A polished uniform man made his way over to them and insistently pressed a glass of whiskey in Alexander’s hand. He kissed his cheek, and disappeared back into the crowd. Alexander forced Burr to mingle with him while they quickly caught up on their closest friends’ escapades. Peggy came inside not long after, and made her way over to Burr to rescue him.

 

“What was wrong with the horse?” Burr asked, attempting to appear nonchalant. He was secretly worried. He didn’t want something to happen to hinder the abduction.

 

Peggy waved his worries away. “Nothing. She just had a pebble stuck near her frog. She was acting out of irritation more than pain.”

 

Burr had a minimal knowledge of horses, and hadn’t the faintest what a frog was. “Have you already begun to drink, Peggy?” He asked.

 

She met him with a bawdy laugh. “The frog’s part of the hoof, Burr. She had a rock stuck near the middle of her foot. She’s fine.”

 

After a beat, Burr opened his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off by Alexander leaping up on the table. He strode over to where Burr and Peggy were talking, and called out “whoa!” to get the attention of the whole room.

 

“Everybody raise a glass!” Alexander cheered, and looking down, added “You too, Peggy!”

 

Peggy laughed, and was passed a glass of pink champagne that she took with delight. Alexander nodded, satisfied that she wasn’t ignored. Burr shook his head at his friend’s shenanigans.

“Well, comrades, we’ve had our fun.” Alexander looked down, and almost looked shy for a moment before his head popped back up. “Live, laughed, and loved.” His voice dropped to a wanton pitch on the loved, and he earned a chorus of laughter. “Friends of my youth, when shall we meet again? I am going abroad…” Alexander trailed off, and stared at something in the back of the room. Peggy looked over her shoulder in an attempt to find what he was looking at, but saw nothing. She shrugged to Burr, and took a sip of champagne.   
  
“Goodbye my gypsy lovers,” began Alexander. Burr hit his foot, causing him to look down at where he sat in confusion. Burr made a slicing motion over his throat, and nodded in the direction of a handful of Romani men in the corner who had not taken kindly to Alexander’s use of slang, if the sudden interest in their knives said anything. He swallowed, and started over. “Goodbye my…” he struggled for a word that fit, but quickly found one with a brief reflection, “tipsy lovers.”

 

This change seemed to please the men, and the knives vanished as if they had never been there. Alexander visibly relaxed, and sang with an ease. “All my revels here are over. Well goodbye, Robert.” The man he was speaking too made a sad face, and Alexander pulled him up to the table. “Kiss me one last time.” He declared, and the man was happy to comply. Burr rubbed his temples, and Peggy helped Alexander’s former lover off the table the second their kiss was over. Alexander raised his glass again. “Remember me to Steshka. There, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Wish me luck my tipsy lovers!” He used his free hand to wave away his friends. “Now goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.”

 

Alexander looked to Peggy for assistance getting down so he could leap off dramatically. She looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Alexander swore he heard her mumble under her breath “You can choke.” He chose to jump down instead and swung his arms up to balance himself and accidentally spilt some of his drink on Peggy.   


The club picked up Alexander’s earlier song, and sang it with joy “Goodbye my tipsy lovers all my revels here are over!” Peggy gave Alexander an exhausted look and took the glass from his hand and tossed the rest of his drink down her throat. He opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by the singing. “Well goodbye, Robert, kiss me one last time, whoa!” People began to couple off and awkwardly sway to the strange tune. This caused Alexander to laugh and for a look of mild irritation to grace Burr’s face. The dancing did not stop the singing. “Remember me to Steshka. There, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Wish me luck my tipsy lovers!” Burr made sure nobody noticed him joining in for the last bar. “Now goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!”  
  
“Hurrah!” Shouted one inebriated woman, and another declared that they should “Smash the glasses on the floor!” This seemed like a brilliant idea, and for a moment nothing could be heard besides glass breaking.

 

Peggy, who was now fairly intoxicated, slung her arm around one of the barmaids, and hollered out her own name. Laughter rose over the noises from dancing. Peggy tilted her head back and called out “Here’s to happiness freedom and life!” The patrons excitedly joined in and began to sing with her. Burr was glad for the distraction, and took his opportunity to get Alexander to drink some water. He wanted him to be more sober than usual for this whole process. He began to usher Alexander out the door, but was stopped by his friend throwing his arms out.

  
“No, wait, wait, wait!” Alexander said, causing the club to fall silent with a hush. He pointed at a skinny boy, who was probably too young to be there, that happened to be standing by the entrance. “Shut the door!” Alexander’s eyes were blown wide as he grabbed a chair. “First we have to sit down! That's the way.” The other members slowly copied him, and nodded to one another. Alexander mumbled to himself “It's a Russian custom.”   
  
The club was silent and tense for a moment, and everyone’s eyes were on Alexander. He took several shallow breaths and closed his eyes in concentration. Burr caught Peggy’s eyes and the pair exchanged a look. Peggy swiped an unclaimed drink and downed it. Burr did his best not to roll his eyes. He shot her another look, but before she glanced at him, Alexander nodded to himself and opened his eyes with a bright new energy. “All right.” He whispered. Cheers filled the club, and Alexander rose.   
  
He had just taken a handful of steps to the door when Burr’s nimble fingers grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled Alexander back to face him. “Wait, wait, wait!” Burr hissed, causing Alexander to blink rapidly with wide eyes. “Where's the fur cloak?” Alexander looked down while his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Burr couldn’t control the little laugh that escaped him, and pulled overeager friend close to him. “I have heard what elopements are like,” continued Burr with a wink that made Alexander turn even redder. “He’ll rush out more dead than alive just in the things he’s wearing; if you delay at all, there'll be tears and 'Papa' and 'Mamma', and he’s frozen in a minute and must go back,” Alexander made an unpleasant face at the thought, and Burr shook his head while he continued, “But you wrap the fur cloak round him and you carry him to the sleigh. That's the way.” Burr gave Alexander a firm clap on the shoulder, and Alexander gave him a satisfied nod.

 

“That’s the way.” Alexander echoed with a childlike smile.

 

There was a calm aura that surrounded Burr and Alexander for a moment, and the pair found themselves leaning in to one another. Whatever they had was shattered when Peggy butted in, and dragged her friends to the door. “Let's get outta here!” She shouted, pushing them out into the street and into her troika.   


They took off and the troika tore down Nikitski Boulevard. Peggy cackled, and shouted out “Whoa! Giddyup, now! Whoa! Whoa!” to her wild horses, who were somehow even fresher than the night before. The famous troika driver was greeted by shouts as her sled flew with chaos.  
  
A young fellow greeted the trio at the address Alexander had been given, and helped Peggy hold on to the horses. When they reached the gate Burr whistled. After a moment, the whistle was answered, and a maidservant ran out. She had her curly hair pinned on the top of her head.   
  
“Come in through the courtyard or you'll be seen.” The servant mumbled, pulling Alexander along with her and looking around nervously. “He'll come out directly.” She added belatedly.  
  
Burr stayed by the gate. Alexander followed the maid into the courtyard, turned the corner, ran up to the porch, and straight into a broad figure. Alexander quickly wrenched his wrist out of the servant's hand and backpedaled. The figure looking in his way was most certainly not John.  
  
“You will not enter my house, scoundrel!” Hercules Mulligan growled, and the servant tucked herself behind his looming figure. Alexander could not process what was happening in front of him.  
  
Panic instantly instilled in Burr’s brain. “Alexander, come back! Betrayed! Betrayed!”

 

Alexander did not move, and Burr realized that he had whispered. He swore to himself, and repeated himself louder. “Betrayed, Alexander! Come back!” Alexander’s feet finally began to move, and stumbled as fast as he could to the wicket gate that Burr was standing behind. Hercules began to advance at Alexander, and Burr pushed open the gate and ran to Alexander to rescue him. Burr found himself repeating his warning from before. “Betrayed! Betrayed!” Burr seized Alexander by his arm and pulled him through the wicket. He shot a pointed look at the servant, and spat out a final “Betrayed!”

  
Alexander ran back with him to the troika, breathless confusion spread across his face.


	21. In My House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the part that has made me dread turning marya into hercules because now he has to fight with his friends/sons and that just sucks. 
> 
> alternatively titled "u finna lose ur loco parentis privileges"

An angry Hercules was one that was best avoided. Unfortunately for John, this was not an option. Hercules stormed his way up to John’s room with a meek Lafayette at his heels. The servant that had helped them foil the plot had gone to bed, for she looked rather ill ever since Lafayette had convinced her to help them stop the elopement. John was sitting in his room, poorly dressed for the cold weather in a fancy black undershirt with a small traveling bag at his feet. He looked excited when the door opened, but his face drained when he saw the furry that was Hercules Mulligan. He backed up until he was stopped by the sofa. 

 

“You shameless good-for-nothing!” His godfather spat, staring John down. “You vile, shameless boy! In my house!” John fell to the sofa while Hercules threw his arms out in frustration. “In my house! A nice boy!” He laughed to himself, but it was an empty laugh devoid of joy. “Very nice!”

 

John pulled his quilt to his chest as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. This did not stop Hercules’s explosion of scolding, however. “You dirty nasty wench of a thing.” John flinched at the use of a curse normally saved for women and opened his mouth in protest, but stopped when an unamused hum came from Hercules “Now don't you say one word. In my house! In my house! Horrid boy, hussy!”

 

The impossibly large man crossed his arms and shook his head in fury. He glanced around at Lafayette, who had not moved since entering the room, and seated himself on the sofa. “It's lucky for him he escaped, but I'll find him!” He swore. John lost interest in paying attention to the scolding he was receiving and tried to come up with a plot to save himself. His distracted gaze did not escape Hercules, who barked out “Now you listen to me when I speak to you!” John did not move, but Hercules was not afraid of repeating himself. “Now you listen to me when I speak to you!” This caused John to jump, but Hercules was not through with him. “In my house! In my house!” In a last minute effort, Hercules added “Do you hear what I am saying or not?”

 

John’s whole body shook with noiseless, convulsive sobs as he finally comprehended what he had done to not just himself, but also Angelica. Hercules touched his large hand to his face and turned it to himself. Both Hercules and Lafayette were amazed and horrified when they saw how John looked. His eyes were dry and glistening, his lips compressed and his cheeks sunken.

 

“Don't touch me!” John cried, wrenching himself from Hercules. “Let me be! What is it to me? I shall die!” he muttered, and sunk into his former position, tucked to his chest. He would never be allowed to see Alexander again, not after this stunt. And he had ruined anything he and Angelica had going for themselves. He should have just waited. _Everything would better if I had waited!_

 

Hercules was mellowing out, a byproduct of his age, when the image of a furious Henry Laurens manifested in his head and caused a new wave of panic. “What are we to tell your father? Eh? In my house! In my house!” If - no when - the elder Laurens found out, Hercules feared he would never be trusted to watch over John again. To make matters worse, he had a horrible temper, just like Prince Reynolds.  _ Oh God. _ “What are we to tell Princess Angelica? Eh?” A handful of tears streamed down Hercules face as he asked, mostly to himself, “Oh what do we tell your betrothed?”

 

John lifted his chin and coldly proclaimed “I have no betrothed, I have refused her!” The room was silent with horror for several long seconds. 

 

For the first time since entering, Lafayette made his presence known by crossing the room, and murmuring gently. “John, come here, kiss me, press your wet face to mine.” And extended his arm to embrace his cousin. 

 

John shot away from him like Lafayette might burn him, and nearly spat on him while hissing “Don't touch me!”

 

Hercules was speechless for a moment, before another thought caused anger to again rise in him. “Why didn't he come to the house, why didn't he openly ask for your company? You were not kept under lock and key! Carrying you off like some gypsy boy!” Hercules pointedly stared down John. He had never been judgmental, and always showed that he had John’s best interests in his heart. If it would have made John happiest to remain a bachelor and do whatever he pleased with Alexander, Hercules would have found a way to make it happen.  _ What was their plan, how could they have pulled off a marriage of all things? News surely would have spread...  _ “And if he had carried you off, don't you think your father would have found him?” John pushed himself away from Hercules. His father was the last thing that the boy wanted to think about, but Hercules knew that ignoring the obvious problem would only make it worse. “Your father, I know him, he will challenge him to a duel and what then? Will that be all right? Eh?” Hercules looked to Lafayette for assistance, but the boy never took his worried eyes off his cousin. Exasperated, Hercules threw out his hands helplessly, and proclaimed “He's a scoundrel, he's a wretch - that's a fact!”

 

John gulped in air, and said under his breath “He is better than any of you I say.” 

 

His mumbling was not understood, and Hercules leaned in closer trying to understand. This caused John to push himself up, and exclaim “He is better than any of you I say!” He clenched his hands into fists to control his rage, and asked “Why did you interfere! Oh God, what is it all? What is it?” He got in Hercules’s face, and nearly screamed “Who are you to tell me anything?” 

 

He looked over his shoulder to see his cousin, and finally put the pieces together. No one had known other than Lafayette and his servant Ana. And Ana had been with John all night. His dearest friend had betrayed him. “Lafayette, why?” John whispered. Lafayette opened his mouth, but John cut him off with a cry he sobbed through. “Go away! Everyone, go away!”

 

The pair he was abusing looked at one another, and had a small exchange of looks that John couldn’t bother to try to interpret. Hercules Mulligan tried to speak again but John cried out. 

 

“Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and he threw himself back down on the sofa

 

Furious with his unruliness, Hercules shouted at his godson “John!” When the boy only responded by curling up into a tight ball, Hercules felt all of his frustration drain out of him, and mumbled with much more care and tenderness “Jack…”

 

Hercules went on reprimanding John for some time, warning him that it must all be kept from his father and that nobody else would know if only John himself would take up the task to forget it all, and to forget Alexander. John found himself unable to reply or sob any longer. Instead, he felt as if he were swimming in an ice bath and went into a shivering fit. Hercules put a pillow under his head, covered him with two quilts and brought him a glass of lime-flower water. But John did not respond.

 

“Well, let him sleep.” said Hercules as he left the room. He waited for Lafayette to follow, but he shook his head and stayed rooted where he was. Hercules narrowed his eyes, and repeated himself with a harsher tone. “Let him sleep.” Then he was gone, and it was only the two young men. 

 

Most would assume that all the crying had exhausted John, and that he was dead to the world. But Lafayette knew his friend. John was not asleep; his face was pale and his eyes wide open. All that night he did not sleep or weep. He sat at the window. Lafayette went to his side several times, and asked him what he was doing. John would look at his cousin and say nothing out loud, but tried to telepathically communicate his thoughts. It didn’t seem to work, but John never changed his answer. 

  
_ Waiting for him. Or her. Whichever comes first.  _


	22. A Call to Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel like hercules and eliza would have been p awesome friends if they had the chance
> 
> alternatively titled "when you fuck up you go to eliza"

There was a lazy, calming haze in Eliza’s study. The candles were burning slowly and providing much needed light and a pleasant smell while Eliza flipped through another book on numerology. Her haven was disrupted when a servant opened the door. 

 

It was Philip, her dearest member of her staff. He too was a Van Rensselaer, but a far less favored one. His mother had been a lowly cook, versus Eliza’s mother’s elite socialite status. Philip was a hard worker who deserved his spot as the head of Eliza’s staff, and much more than that. She had some guilt of employing someone who was biologically her brother but whom society wouldn’t allow to rise unless he joined the army. The brilliant nineteen year old who had grand plans on blowing the world away was against any sort of violence, so he worked with what his birth had given him. Philip never resented her, and was always her voice of reason during a difficult time. She considered him a dear friend.

 

“A letter from Hercules Mulligan.” He informed Eliza, offering her the envelope. 

 

Eliza shook her head at the offering. “Will you read it for me Philip?”

 

He nodded without hesitation, and carefully broke the seal and pulled out the paper. He skimmed the letter, and informed Eliza of its contents. “He’s asking you to come and visit him. On a matter of great importance relating to Angelica Schuyler Reynolds and her betrothed.” He seemed mildly surprised by the last sentence, and his bright eyes were instantly on Eliza to gage her reaction. 

 

“What?” Eliza asked and sounded like she had something stuck in the back of her throat. She squinted at her friend as she pulled her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck to get it out of her face. “What can they want with me?”

 

Philip shrugged, which was of no help, and offered Eliza her big fur coat, which at least motivated her to answer the call. She took the coat slowly, and followed Philip out her house to the stables where the troika was parked. She got into the sleigh while Philip and her driver strapped in the horses. Philip turned to go back to the house, but Eliza motioned for him to join her. He wore one of the drivers coats, and the two talked in low whispers the entire ride over to Hercules Mulligan’s house. Neither of them could come up with anything that had happened to Angelica that Eliza would needed to discuss with Hercules. Eliza was just about to ask Philip about some of his new poems, a matter that was far more lighthearted, when the troika stopped outside the wicket gate. Eliza exited the troika and slowly knocked on the great doors to the beautiful old house. 

 

She was instantly greeted by a figure that she didn’t recognize. It took her a moment to realize that the rumpled, nervous man with dark circles and hunched posture was Hercules Mulligan. He pulled her inside quickly, all while whispering “Eliza, old friend I'm sorry it's late, I'm sorry I haven't seen you about. Where have you been?” His voice grew desperate as he sat them in the drawing room and asked again, this time far more frantically “Where have you been?”

 

“I have been studying.” Eliza said soothingly, and placed a small hand on Hercules’s broad back as if she were calming a frightened animal. 

 

Hercules closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued his rambling from earlier with more clarity. “Eliza old friend we need your help.” He opened his eyes, and looked so deep into Eliza’s own that she felt as if he had grabbed her and violently shaken her. “Eliza old friend the family name, we need your help!” Hercules grasped Eliza’s hands, and pressed them tightly together while he begged “We need your help! There's ruin at the door!”

 

Eliza gently freed her hands, and quietly asked “Hercules? What has happened?”

 

“You will not repeat anything I tell you, on your honor?” Hercules gulped in air as he spoke shakily clenching and unclenching his own hands.

 

The moment Eliza gave him a dutiful nod, Hercules let out a high nervous sigh and informed him “John has let down the family.”

 

Silence reverberated through the room. “What?” Eliza whispered breathlessly.

 

“John has broken with Angelica.” Hercules continued, and grabbed Eliza’s shoulder in an attempt to steady himself.

 

Eliza blinked and grasped at Hercules’s elbow to anchor herself. “What?” she asked. Angelica and John were so innocently in love with one another. They had met for a single night before Angelica was to return to the endless war, and had vowed to marry when Angelica returned. Maria and Eliza had been planning the wedding for months while their sister was away. Angelica was returning tomorrow. Eliza hadn’t been in contact with her sisters for the past week, but what could have happened to destroy everything so quickly?

 

While Eliza attempted to process what was happening, Hercules collapsed into Eliza and rested his forehead on her own. “John has tried to elope.” He said with a small, painful voice.

 

“What?” Eliza looked up, and saw tears falling down Hercules’s face. She lifted her free hand up to cup his face and pulled it back so she could better look in his eyes.  _ Who could John have meet that was so much better than Angelica? It isn’t possible. _ She was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces to, and needed his help to understand what was happening. 

 

Hercules took a deep breath, and spoke slowly with controlled rage “John and Alexander Hamilton!” The last name came out in a furious cry that caused Eliza to jump. 

 

She couldn’t control the exclamation “What?” _ A man. John loves a man. _ That was the only thing that Eliza could focus on. Hercules didn’t so much seem angry that John had tried to elope with a man as much as he was mad that it was Alexander. Eliza knew that it was possible for people to favor their own sex, but she didn’t personally know anyone that did.  _ Why would he marry Angelica if he prefered men? Unless…  _ Had Angelica been in on it too? She had to have known, she was too smart not to. Why would Angelica marry a man she knew would never love her? Was it possible that she was the same? So many terrible questions were pressing her. 

 

Hercules clutched on to Eliza, effectively bringing her back to reality, and refused to let go. “We need your help, we need your help. There's ruin at the door!” He begged.

 

“John, that charming boy? I can't believe my ears. So I am not the only soul tied to a wild youth.” Eliza mused as she sat with Hercules and tried to figure out how something this unfortunate could have fallen upon a house as wonderful as the one she was in. While she was trying to push all rude speculations out of her concious, a disturbing thought pressed her. “And Alexander, that stupid child, they'll lock him up for years.” Hercules gave her a puzzled look, and Eliza rushed to explain herself. “For Alexander is a married man!”

 

Hercules looked like somebody had pulled the floor out from under his feet. He slowly released Eliza as he leaned back and whispered to himself with horror “Married? He's married?”

 

“Yes.” Eliza said with a pitying look at Hercules. She forgot that Alexander’s situation was private knowledge, and wished she could have helped her kind friend earlier. 

 

“Oh wait till I tell him.” Hercules cursed and looked at Eliza, completely helpless. 

 

All she could do was nod. The image of her sister’s face when she discovered John’s betrayal made Eliza sick. Even if they never loved one another, they still must have been close friends. “Poor Angelica.”

 

Fresh horror filled Hercules’s eyes while he made a connection that Eliza had forgotten about. “And when Angelica comes home, she will challenge Alexander to a duel, and get herself killed.” He looked to Eliza for confirmation, and got one in a tight nod. “And all will be ruined.” He said.

 

Eliza would be willing to pay an unholy amount to see Angelica shoot Alexander. But she would do anything to stop her brilliant, hot headed sister from running straight into harm's way. Angelica couldn’t find out. They had to protect John and anyone he might have accidently hurt along the way. It was what was best for everyone. 

 

“You must go see your friend.” Hercules said stiffly, and ignored the eyeroll Eliza gave him at the casual use of the word friend. “And tell him that he must leave Moscow.” After a moment of thought, Hercules added “and not dare to let me set my eyes on him again.”

  
Eliza gave him a sure nod, and rose to leave the house. “At once.”


	23. Find Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you think angry, vengeful eliza is out of character, please refer to "burn", an original song from hamilton: an american musical written by lin-manuel miranda
> 
> alternatively titled "alex get the fuck back here or so help me"

Hercules extended an invitation for Eliza to stay for dinner, but her temper had the best of her and she turned it down so she could hunt down the foolish Alexander. She raced out to her troika, and barked out an order to her driver. 

 

“Alexander, find Alexander.” He looked at her with bewilderment, and she repeated herself forcefully. “Alexander, find Alexander.”

 

Philip looked at her with concern. The blood was rushing to Eliza’s heart, and she found it difficult to breathe. Philip gently asked Eliza what had happened, and she repeated herself. Philip decided that he would be most useful with the driver, and left Eliza to ponder with herself. 

 

Alexander was not at the ice hills, not at  Robert’s , not at Komoneno's. Eliza continued to repeat her new mantra to herself. “Alexander, find Alexander. Alexander, find Alexander.” Where would that scoundrel be on a horrid night like tonight?  _ Of course.  _ “To the club!” Eliza ordered her driver. They arrived in record time, and Philip held the horses while Eliza entered, still breathing heavily from her rage. 

 

And at the club all was going on as usual. The members ate their dinners and gossiped in small groups. Eliza was greeted by several acquaintances. One of her fonder ones, Joanna Bethune, while talking about the weather asked “Have you heard of Hamilton’s abduction?” Eliza feigned surprise, and was horrified to learn that it was the talk of the town. Joanna’s sister, Jessie, added “Is it true John is ruined?” with such eagerness that if Eliza had not known her better, she would have assumed Jessie was a spiteful wench. 

 

Eliza did her best to dismiss the rumors with a lazy wave of her hand. “Nonsense, that’s all nonsense. Why, I just came from the Mulligans’, where John is staying, and nothing has happened.” She let out a forced laugh that she hoped sounded casual. “Everything is fine.”

 

She was careful to be discrete while she asked about Alexander. One man told her that he hand not come yet, and another said that he was coming to dinner. Eliza had no clue where to find him. 

 

For once, it was unfortunate that Eliza wasn’t home at the moment, for that was where Alexander was. Burr was furious with him, and though Alexander could not recognize it at the time, it was for all the right reasons, and Peggy was taking care of her exhausted horses and nursing a hangover. Alexander couldn’t think of anywhere else to turn to. “John! John!” he cried out while pounding his hands on the great door.

 

Earlier, this had seemed rational. Eliza was Angelica’s sister, and therefore would have some sort of contact with her soon to be brother in law.  _ Though now I assume it is former soon to be. _ The door swung open, and before even bothering to process who answered him, Alexander blurted out “It is essential that I see John, how can I see him?”

 

“Alexander, come Alexander.” Theodosia said softly, extending her arms to pull her friend into an embrace. Since the night of the duel, Eliza had forced Theodosia to stay with her so she could enforce her husband’s request of keeping her pure. For the first time, Theodosia was grateful for this as she pressed a kiss to her friend’s hair.  _ He looks awful. _ “Alexander, hush Alexander.” She snuck him into her governess’s house, and took him to the drawing room. 

 

While Theodosia was trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do with Alexander, the house of Hercules Mulligan was filled with emotions. Lafayette was holding a sobbing John, who now allowed tears to flow freely down his face, and giving Hercules a look filled with fright. 

 

“What? What? I don't believe that he is married.” John gasped, glaring at Hercules. “I don't believe you.”

 

And John stared like a hunted wounded animal, while he wailed “He can't be married!”

 

Eliza grew tired of waiting for Alexander to arrive at the club for dinner, and chose to go home and continue her purge of Moscow tomorrow. She helped her driver take care of the horses and sent Philip inside to prepare some tea for them to share. She finished her tasks efficiently, and went to the comforting warmth of her home. 

 

She did not expect for Philip to rush to greet her at the door. Before Eliza even had the chance to take off her dirty shoes, he pushed his way past the servants who were coming to take her coat and dipped his head the slightest before he said “Good evening ma’am.” 

 

Eliza gave him an odd look, and Philip leaned in to whisper so the others would not hear. “Prince Alexander is in the drawing room with the Countess.”

 

She gave him an alarmed look, and quickly made her way to the spotless drawing room that she had helped her servants clean earlier that day. Theodosia sat and wore some ragged sleeping clothes that she would never be caught dead wearing in public and had her hair down angelically framing her face. Alexander looked like a mess. Half of his hair had fallen out of his usually pristine ponytail, and he had black circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked wide awake, but at the same time very weak and small. Eliza let the heel of her boots slam into the floor so they knew she was approaching.

 

This caused Theodosia to jump off the couch, and fold her hands like she was a polite schoolgirl. “Ah, Eliza, sweet governess,” she said, batting her eyelashes with innocence, which alone would have told Eliza that something horrible hand just occurred was she not already aware. “You don't know what a plight our Alexander has had.”

 

“Be quiet.” Eliza growled, causing Theodosia to instantly back down, seeing the forward thrust of her governess’s head, the glowing brown eyes and determined gait, all of which were sure signs of Eliza’s rare rage. Theodosia ducked her head submissively and wrapped her own arms around herself. Eliza refused to greet Theodosia, and informed the child that “At this moment you are more repulsive to me than ever.” 

 

For a moment, she felt bad about the cold, singular tear the fell from Theodosia’s eyelashes. But Eliza did not apologize, and instead turned to the object that had awoken her rage. “Alexander, come Alexander. Alexander, must speak to you.” Eliza walked off to her study, and Alexander followed with his usual jaunty step. But his face betrayed anxiety.

  
Having entered the study, Eliza closed the door and addressed Alexander without looking at him.


	24. Pierre & Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no matter what universe he's in, alexander always hits a point where he deserves to be yelled at. often by eliza. how nice. 
> 
> alternatively titled "he had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame"

“You promised Count Laurens to marry him and were about to elope, is that so?” Eliza said, crossing her arms and checking her chin up so she appeared larger, though she did not look directly at Alexander. 

 

With little tact, Alexander let out a small laugh. “Mon cher,” he said with a lazy smile, for he had never experienced Eliza’s rage, “I don't consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone.”

 

Eliza’s face, already pale, became distorted by fury. She seized him by the collar with her small, strong hands and shook him from side to side until Alexander’s face showed a sufficient degree of terror.

 

“When I tell you I must talk to you!” Eliza told him, her voice seething with rage.  _ I will not allow him to walk out of this unscathed.  _

 

Alexander had broken into a sweat, and stuttered “Come now, this is stupid! What what don't don't!” He pushed himself away from Eliza, and nervously fingered a button on his collar that had been wrenched loose.  

 

“You're a scoundrel and a blackguard.” Eliza informed him coldly, and rested her hands on her desk. “And I don't know what deprives me of the pleasure of smashing your head in with... this!” She took a heavy paperweight and lifted it threateningly, but at once put it back in its place when even more horror appeared on Alexander’s face.

 

Eliza looked carefully at Alexander, and felt nothing but resentment for him.  _ How dare he think he has the right to play with people like this. _ “Did you promise to marry him?” 

 

A moment of hesitation. Eliza had never seen Alexander so unsure in his entire life. “I didn't think of it. I never promised, because -”

 

Eliza interrupted him. She wasn’t going to hear his half-assed excuses. “Have you any letters of his?” She extended her hand, palm open. “Any letters?”

 

Alexander jumped away from her, and drew his hand into his breast pocket and threw half of a letter he had tucked in there at Eliza. She took it, and with a great sigh pushed aside a table and threw herself on a sofa so she could focus on her breathing. “I shan't be violent, don't be afraid.” She told Alexander. He picked at his thumb, and pulled out a handful more from his overcoat that he was still wearing from when Theodosia had taken him inside. He gingerly placed them in Eliza’s lap. 

 

She immediately rose and leafed through the letters as she walked across the room. The one Alexander had ripped and kept near his heart caught her eye. It was John’s signature. And above it, “Adieu again my love - yours ever.”  _ John you hopeless romantic. Didn’t you ever think? _ Eliza’s chemise was tight enough in her chest that she could slip the letter there and save it for John. The rest seemed to contain far more harmful and damning evidence about plotting for the elopement. Eliza stopped by her subdued fireplace.

 

“First, the letters.” She said as she dropped them in the fire. A strangled noise left Alexander’s throat, while Eliza continued. “Second, tomorrow you must get out of Moscow.”

 

Eyes still on the burning paper, Alexander asked “But how can I?”

 

“Third,” Eliza continued without listening to him, “you must never breathe a word of what has happened between you and the Count.” She looked at Alexander, really looked at him for the first time since entering the study, with such intensity that Alexander feared for a moment that he might soon join the letters in the fireplace if he angered her any more. 

 

Eliza’s hands went behind her head to free her hair that she had tied up earlier that night. “Now I know I can't prevent your doing so, but if you have a spark of conscience…” She let the threat hang in the air while Eliza paced the room several times in silence. 

 

Alexander sat at a table frowning and biting his lips. He opened his mouth several times, but always closed it and wound up looking rather like a fish. In a different context, it would have been hilarious. The charming Alexander left speechless by the short hag Eliza. 

 

“After all, you must understand that besides your pleasure,” Eliza said cooly, “there is such a thing as other people, and their happiness and peace.” Alexander duly nodded, and it was obvious that he was only half listening. This inspired Eliza to raise her voice so she could not be ignored. “And that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself!” She crossed the room, and knelt down so she could make eye contact with this pest of a man she was addressing. “Amuse yourself with people like my ward. With them you're within your rights.”

 

Alexander made a face as if Eliza had told him to make love with his sister. She made note of that, but was unsure if she’d ever want to weaponize it. Eliza pulled away and leaned against the arm of the sofa using her hands for balance. Was it cruel and unnecessary for her to drag Theodosia into this? Probably. But what Alexander had done... No, that was unforgivable. He had endangered a boy. The both of them would be far safer if they had waited until John was safely married to Angelica. It would break Eliza’s heart, but all that would have mattered was Angelica’s approval. Alexander was never very good at waiting.

 

“But to promise a young boy to marry him… to deceive, to kidnap…” Eliza waited for Alexander to defend himself, but he did not. “Why don't you understand that that's as cruel as beating an old woman or a child?”  _ Maybe that image will stir something in him.  _ She felt her anger fading, and curiosity forming.  _ Has he gone numb? _

 

Alexander instantly flew up from his seat, and crossed his arms defensively. Eliza raised an eyebrow, and thought to herself  _ Evidently not _ . Alexander scowled, and grumbled “Well I don't know about that, eh? I don't know that and I don't want to.” He looked down at her, and seemed as if he wasn’t quite sure how to appear. Eliza noticed a slight tremor in his lower jaw. “But you have used such words to me, 'scoundrel' and so on, which as a man of honor I will not allow anyone to use.”

 

Eliza’s eyes naturally fell to the wooden case that held her dueling pistols. “Is it satisfaction you want?” She asked.

 

“You could at least take back your words, eh?” Alexander asked, shaking his head with such ferocity Eliza was worried for a moment that it might fall off. Alexander’s large dark eyes were filled with such uncertainty and worry that it made Eliza ache for him, despite everything. “If you want me to do as you wish?” His voice grew truly desperate for the first time that night. 

 

The room was filled with a tense silence. Eliza’s mind felt like it was overflowing with anger, sympathy, and confusion. She was not sorry for what she had said. She believed he was all of those things and more, but she needed Alexander to leave. Needed him to leave for the sake of the strict but kind Hercules who had turned to Eliza in his hour of despair, needed to him to leave for the good, patient Lafayette that would for sure get dragged into this mess, needed him to leave for John… Young, naive John, who had broken oaths, traditions and laws for Alexander, a man who was beneath John as far as Eliza was concerned. And her own duties. If Alexander staid he would certainly visit Theodosia. The last thing Eliza was going to do was let the black of his rumors destroy the only thing she was supposed to be protecting. No matter how much they resented one another, Eliza always knew in the depths of her heart that she must protect the girl. She was young, she had much to learn. And not all of it was going to come easily. Eliza had one choice. 

 

“Fine I take them back, I take them back!” She said, and added after a moment, “And I ask you to forgive me.” Eliza recalled an earlier banter she had been having with Alexander. If he truly had planned to elope, he would have thrown all of his money into it. “And if you require money for your journey - “

 

Alexander nodded, and smiled. The reflection of that base and cringing smile that Eliza knew so well in her ward revolted her. He was catlike, and malicious now. Alexander had survived Eliza’s fury more unscathed than most. 

 

Eliza’s pity vanished, and she for a moment, was filled with regret. She had other options, but this was the only one where she could accomplish her original goal. Nothing she could change now. She had done her part in the narrative, though now she would as soon as erase it.  _ Oh, vile and heartless brood! _

  
Next day Alexander left for Petersburg.


	25. Natasha Very Ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is short and filled with some not good stuff. there is a focus on suicide in this chapter, for obvious reasons. if you need to, you can skip it.
> 
> alternatively titled "stay alive reprise reprise"

Eliza called her driver one final time for the night and they drove to Hercules Mulligan’s to tell him of the fulfillment of his wish that Hamilton should be banished from Moscow. She knocked on the great door gently, so not to wake up too many of the residents. 

 

The door went unanswered for some time. Eliza was surprised when the lithe Lafayette opened it. “John is very ill.” He whispered, but invited Eliza inside anyways. Worried, Eliza stepped inside and dropped her coat on the floor next to her shoes in a hurry to follow Lafayette. The whole house was a state of alarm and commotion.

 

Whispers filled the entire house, and it appeared that many of the servants were up and busy. “John very ill,” was repeated over and over as Lafayette took her to Hercules. Eliza could hear Lafayette counting in what sounded like french under his breath.

 

A robed figure embraced Eliza that moment he saw her at the top of the staircase. Eliza held Hercules and murmured “It is done.”

 

She received a relieved nod. Hercules nodded at a door and informed her “ He has poisoned himself with a bit of arsenic.”

 

Lafayette, who seemed very interested in his slippered feet, whispered “He woke me in the middle of the night and told me what he had done.”  He looked up, and with tears in his eyes said horsely “He wanted to say goodbye.” 

 

Eliza was speechless. She knew how Lafayette and John were practically like brothers. She remembered what it was like finding Maria after she had been rejected by the boy from the Stevens family. The bathtub full, Maria under the surface. Eliza had screamed, and it was Angelica who had saved their sister. But Lafayette was not shaking like Eliza had for a week, nor biting his nails until they bled, which Angelica still did. His face was stained with dried tears and his eyes were bloodshot, but he stood like a steadfast paladin.  _ Lafayette is so quietly strong.  _

 

“And the doctors, and the antidotes.” Hercules said nonsensically, waving his hand at the door to John’s room. “And now he is out of danger.” He appeared outwardly relieved, but Eliza could still see the worry etched behind his eyes. 

 

“What about moving him to the country, to his mother’s old home?” Eliza proposed. “If it doesn’t bring up any more bad memories.”

 

Lafayette shook his head side to side. “He’s still so weak.” Eliza frowned and Hercules sighed. Lafayette glanced at his two elders, and reminded them meekly “And Angelica is to return.”

 

The hallway was silent, and all three of them watched the door to John’s room. If you strained to listen, a soft sob could occasionally be heard. 

 

“Do you know what he said? When I warned him to stay away from Hamilton?” Lafayette asked, and continued before waiting for a response. “He told me ‘It won't be you, it'll be me, who'll suffer.’” Hercules embraced him, but the boy did not show any sign of recognizing the hug. 

 

Tenderly, Eliza intertwined her hand with Lafayette’s. He looked at her with desperation. “Sometimes, all we can do is hope that our loved ones will save their strength and stay alive.”

 

“What it if isn’t enough?” Lafayette asked softly through a handful of tears. 

 

Hercules pressed a loving kiss to Lafayette’s brow. “It will have to be for now.” 

  
The group stood outside the door waiting for news from the doctor for a long time. When he finally appeared, Eliza excused herself and descended down the staircase. She could feel the tension as she quietly left. The whole house waited with dread.


	26. Pierre & Andrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wish we could just read minds that would make life a lot easier. also andrey and natasha should def have met face to face and talked this out not give pierre more guilty icky feelings.
> 
> alternatively titled "not the sisterly reunion any of us wanted"

Angelica had been home for two hours before she sent a letter that was directly delivered to Eliza asking her to come and visit. Her half-sister dropped everything, and arrived so quickly that Angelica’s first thought was of worry for the state of the poor horses and driver. The second was of comfort, as the sight of Eliza and her other sisters always brought her.

 

“Well, how are you?” Angelica asked gently, as she pulled her sister into a fierce hug that did not match her voice. She tickled Eliza just below the ribs and teased “Still getting stouter?”

 

Eliza held her sister’s face and gave her a smile with a bit of sadness. “There's a new wrinkle on your forehead old friend,” she told her, tracing the line with her thumb.

 

The eldest sat the pair of them down on a lush sofa and admitted “It's good to see you. I’ve been away too long.”

 

The governess, for all of her kindness, had always been the most blunt, and it showed in this moment. “My sister, you are in need.” Eliza looked most upset. “Your face is gloomy.”

 

Angelica shook her head, and sighed. “No, I am well.” She stared off out the window, and said “There's a war going on.” Angelica let her mind wander for a moment, and all she could think of was Martha. “Do you know, Eliza,” she said with new exhaustion, “the day after I received your letter about visiting John, my dearest friend was killed in an inconsequential skirmish.” Angelica closed her eyes to prevent tears from escaping, but all she could see was the bayonet wound that no medic would even waste their time with, the light fading from her love’s hazel eyes, and and Angelica’s own hands covered in beautiful Martha’s blood.

 

A soft hand rested against her shoulder. Eliza had such a calming effect on people and she didn’t even realize it. “Oh, Angelica, I am so terribly sorry.” _All of this seems so petty. We have courted death, but it has not touched us. Not like it touches Angelica every day._

 

“Forgive me for troubling you;” Angelica said, taking a deep breath. Eliza instantly recognized that the topic was about to shift to John and her gentle face expressed pity and sympathy. This expression irritated Angelica, and in a determined, ringing and most unpleasant tone, she continued. “I have received a refusal from Count Laurens and have heard reports of Jacques Prevost’s wife’s dear friend having sought her hand, or something of that kind.”

 

Eliza was wordless. It took her several moments to adjust to the sudden change in mood, and a couple more for her to realize that she was talking about Alexander. Angelica was waiting for some sort of reaction, despite the fact she had already made up her mind. Eliza didn’t know what to do other than to nod. “Something of that kind.” She parroted softly.  

 

Angelica pulled a bound packet of letters from her travelling coat pocket, which she was still wearing despite the fact of her arrival home being several hours ago. “Here are his letters.” She pressed them into Eliza’s hands, and somberly instructed her. “Please give them to the Count.”

 

“John is ill,” Eliza said, looking down at the stack of letters that were forced upon her.

 

Her sister seemed surprised. “Then he is here still?” said Angelica. “And Hamilton?” she added quickly, an afterthought filled with fury.

 

“That rat left long ago. John, he has been at death's door.” She caught her sister’s eye, and hoped that she could somehow convey that his illness had been similar to Maria’s. Maybe then she would show more regret.

 

Angelica snorted, and replied, elegantly laced with sarcasm “I much regret his illness,” She evidently did not understand Eliza’s pointed look. And then she smiled like their father, coldly, maliciously. It unnerved her, and Eliza wondered if she smiled like that too. _No, he is not your father._ Eliza reminded herself. That wasn’t part of her.

 

“So the good Monsieur Hamilton has not honored Count Laurens with his hand?” asked Angelica rhetorically, and added almost bitterly after a dry laugh “What was he expecting to do with him, make a housewife?” She shook her head with irritation and said finitely “Well, it doesn't matter. Tell Count Laurens that he was and is perfectly free and that I wish him all that is good.” She sounded almost saddened, as if she wished the affair turned out differently.

 

“You told me once,” Eliza said with sudden assertion in an attempt to prey on the regret she picked up on, “a fallen man should be forgiven.”

 

Angelica gathered Eliza’s hands up in her own, and said “But I didn't say that I could forgive, sister.” She raised her eyebrows to show her sincerity. “I can't.” 

 

 _No need in dodging the bullet now._ “But that was about our father. John is young, he is foolish. Alexander is gone and knows better than to return. Why not?” Eliza deeply pitied John. He had made a mistake, and her sister was ready to give him the harshest punishment she possibly could as a response.

 

The room was heavy with silence, and Angelica’s eyes fell on John’s portrait that she had yet to take down. “Yes, ask his hand again, be magnanimous, and so on?” Eliza fiercely nodded, and her sister sighed wistfully. “Yes, that would be very noble, but I can't be that woman.” Eliza opened her mouth to come up with a clever counter, but Angelica cut her off. “If you wish to be in my confidence never speak of that again.”

 

Eliza looked hurt, and quickly rose to her feet. Her jaw quivered, which was the telltale sign that she was ready to burst into tears. Angelica watched her leave with a heavy heart. She knew that Eliza thought she was treating John far too harshly. _If only I could make her understand, with Martha. If she knew of our compromise, if she understood that he broke a promise more dear than marriage. Then she would be a little kinder._

  
“Well, goodbye.” Angelica whispered, and watched the door slam shut. She realized with a start she had picked her nail to the quick and it was bleeding again. She cursed herself, and wondered when she would finally kick that habit. 


	27. Pierre & Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the anniversary of john lauren's death is an appropriate day to post the song that i literally die every time i listen to, right? also, i constantly feel the need to hug natasha 24/7 even when she's making dumb choices.
> 
> alternatively titled "eliza and john should always be friends no matter what dumb shit alex has done lookin @ u modern au lams writers"

Eliza knew the kindest thing to do was to deliver the letters right away to John. She was still frustrated with Angelica.  _ If she could just understand that John had tried to purposefully leave this world, not accidentally like her friend… _  Eliza tilted her head and watched the light snowfall blow by as she wondered.  _ Could Angelica be like John? Was her friend that was killed her Alexander? Their marriage and her regret would make sense.  _ With each passing moment, Eliza became more and more sure of her conclusion.  _ I must find a delicate way to broach the subject.  _

 

When her troika arrived at Hercules Mulligan’s house for the third time in two days, the servants didn’t hesitate to bring her inside. Lafayette was bent over a table in the great room, and appeared to be scrawling out a letter with intensity and did not look up. Hercules was sitting next to him, and simply pointed at a set of doors down the hall when he saw the bundle in Eliza’s hand. She gave him a nod and let herself in quietly. 

 

John was standing in the middle of the drawing room, with a pale face, but steady and unashamed, which was not how Eliza had expected to find him. When she appeared in the doorway John grew flustered and she hurried to him. Eliza thought that he would give her his hand as usual; but he instead, stepping up to her, stopped, breathing heavily, his thin arms hanging lifelessly just in the very pose he used to stand in as a young boy when he went to the middle of the ballroom to sing, or how he appeared when he showed off his artwork. But the look on his face was quite different.

  
“Elizabeth Schuyler Van Rensselaer -” John sounded like he was about to cry.  
  
The governess shook her head tightly, and whispered with ferocity as she took his hand. “Eliza. Call me nothing but Eliza.”  
  
John took a deep shaky breath. “Princess Schuyler Reynolds was your family -” He stopped suddenly to correct himself. “She is your friend. She once told me that I should turn to you.” John faintly squeezed her hand.  
  


Eliza sniffed as she looked at him, but she did not speak. Till then, for Angelica’s sake, she had been gathering reproach for John, and tried to despise him. But now she felt such pity for him, and that there was no room in her soul for reproach. _Forget her._ Now, John was the one who needed her.   
  
“She is here now.” That wasn’t a question. John was certain and he was correct, so Eliza remained silent. “Tell her to – tell her to forgive me.”  
  
“Yes, I will tell her to forgive you.” Eliza gently let go of John’s hands so she could press the letters in them. “But, she gave me your letters-”  
  
“No, I know that all is over,” he said hurriedly. “I know that it never can be.” He held on to the letters for a moment before he put them on a table, and continued, “But still I'm tormented by the wrongs I've done her. Tell her that I beg her to forgive, forgive,” he ducked his head down as he said, ”forgive me for everything…”  
  
A sense of pity she had never known before crashed into Eliza. “Yes I will tell her, tell her everything.” She said. She let the room sit in silence for several long moments before she decided to gently broach a question. “But-” she stopped and tried to find a better way to phrase it, but her usual charm failed her. “But I should like to know one thing. Did you love- “ Eliza did not know how to refer to Alexander, and flushed at the thought of him. _I will not let him ruin this moment_. “Did you love that bad man?”  
  
John furrowed his eyebrows. “Don't call him bad.” He scolded. Eliza’s sad look threw him off, and John instantly felt bad. He sighed, and wrapped his arms around himself in an odd one person hug, and admitted, “ But I don't know, I don't know at all.”  
  
He began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness, and love overflowed Eliza’s heart. She felt the tears begin to trickle along her cheeks and she hoped that no one would see.  
  
“We won't speak of it anymore,” said Eliza, and her gentle, cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to John, and it stopped his tears almost instantly. “ We won't speak of it, my dear; but one thing I beg of you, consider me your friend. And if you ever need help, or simply to open your heart to someone.” She hesitated for a moment and corrected herself, “Not now, but your mind is clear. Think of me-”

 

She dipped her head to kiss John’s hand, and he jerked it away as if she had burned it. It was now that she finally realized that the tears had stopped racing down the boy’s face, but the dry sobs had not. Eliza grew confused.  
  
Don't speak to me like that. I am not worth it!” exclaimed John, and he turned to leave the room, but Eliza took his hand and held on to it with a warm fierceness.  
  


“Stop, stop, stop!” She knew she had something more to say to him. But she did not know what it was until it had left her lips. “You have your whole life before you-”  
  
John let out a self deprecating dry laugh that held no joy. “Before me? No, all is over for me!” he replied with shame and self-abasement.   
  
“All over?” she repeated. Her tone was strange, and it caused John to come to a full stop, and look her straight in the eye, and found himself distracted for a moment with how dark and warm they were, and how they had never given him the sense of drowning that the bad man, as Eliza called him, always had.   
  
“If I were not myself,” Eliza began slightly unsure of what she was saying, but her confidence grew with each word. “But the brightest, most beautiful, best woman on earth, and if I were free of my ward and duty - “ John opened his mouth to stop her, but Eliza plowed through. “I would get down on my knees this minute, and ask to be your protector, in any way I could.” After absorbing the surprise and shock in John’s face for a moment, she added with a small smile, “And for your friendship.”  
  
And for the first time in many days John wept tears of gratitude, tears of tenderness, and tears of thanks. And glancing at Eliza he whispered, “O Eliza.” _Best of women._ He left the room smiling.

  
Eliza left a moment later and practically ran straight past Hercules, for Lafayette was nowhere in sight. And while restraining tears of tenderness, tears of joy that choked her, Eliza threw her fur coat on her shoulders unable to find the sleeves. A servant opened the door for her and nodded politely.   
  
Outside, her great, but frail, chest breathed in deep the air with joy despite the ten degrees of frost. She gazed up at the snowfall, and sighed with content. She no longer felt lost, or abandoned to distraction. She was willing to face a mirror with a candle and see her future, for she no longer feared it. Eliza had a purpose that she reveled in.   
  
And, with that, she got into her sleigh.


	28. The Great Comet of 1812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tolstoy and malloy capture the essence of humanity here better than anything i've ever seen in my life. 
> 
> alternatively titled "everyone find happiness pls"

“Where to now?” Eliza mumbled to herself.  _ Where can I go now?  _ She couldn’t go to the Club. Not to pay calls. All men - no not just men. The whole of mankind seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison with this feeling of tenderness and love that she had experienced. All of humanity paled compared to that softened, grateful, last glance he gave her through his tears. He had helped Eliza find her use and her purpose. But he gave her no direct next move and she felt empty. Where to now?

 

It was clear and cold. About the dirty, ill-lit streets, above the black roofs, stretched the dark starry sky. Only looking up at the sky did Eliza cease to feel how sordid and humiliating all mundane things were compared with the heights to which her soul had just been raised. The simple beauty of this vast firmament that was open to her eyes caused them to wet with tears. 

 

At the entrance to the Arbat Square an immense expanse of dark starry sky presented itself to her eyes. And there in the middle of it, above the Prechistensky Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars but distinguished from them all by its nearness to earth, its white light and its long luminous tail, shone the Great Comet of 1812.  _ The Brilliant Comet of 1812.  _ Eliza mused to herself, and recalled how the comet was said to portend untold horrors and the end of the world.

 

But for Eliza, however, the comet with its long uplifted tail brought no fear; on the contrary she gazed joyfully. And this bright star, which her eyes tracked through their tears, having traced its parabola with inexpressible speed through immeasurable space, seems suddenly to have stopped. _ Like an arrow piercing the earth.  _ The comet remained fixed in its chosen spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and displaying its white light amid countless other glowing stars. The comet of eighteen-twelve had stopped for Eliza.

 

It seemed to Eliza that this comet felt her. It could feel her softened and uplifted soul, and was responding to everything that was passing through her newly melted heart. She watched it leave, and felt a wave of happiness sweep her away. She was now blossoming into a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> such a short and sweet ending to a three month long journey. thank you everyone who has been here since the beginning to those of you who are just reading it now as a completed fic. it's been a gift combining my two favorite musicals and sharing my writing style for the first time. thank you all so much again, and have a wonderful day.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thanks for indulging me by reading this. kudos and comments are always appreciated and give me life.


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